Dr Acula
by Lucidrealist
Summary: The foundations for a lifelong partnership formed on opposite sides of an examination table. One a Medical Examiner the other a Doctor; who conceals a terrible secret. None could describe or bear to think of the tragic circumstances once his true identity is revealed and Pandora's box opened. (Original Fiction)
1. Chapter 1

She felt privileged to be selected for such a task, her expertise weren't well known amongst the medical community and often overlooked in times of need. Her lack of experience, due to her young age, frequently discouraged seasoned doctors from seeking her aid. With this in mind, to then be invited to a dissection which, would not only benefit the medical community but also educate budding medical students, was a sudden change but not an un-welcomed one.

From the letters she and the doctor exchanged, she had learned that he was highly experienced and had skills beyond his years; this included a teaching degree. To speak the truth, this did nothing to calm her nerves, on the contrary, it had quite the opposite effect. She imagined the gentleman to be old and dour with a strong disliking towards the modern world. What other description would befit a man who still used a handwritten letter to communicate in the modern era?

She had discovered nothing else about the doctor, this was not due to poor research or lack of interest; for such a respectable man he was surprisingly secretive and aloof - well, according to descriptions from his associates. Of course, she had no way of confirming these statements having not met the gentleman.

This doctor had piqued her curiosity and she wasted no time searching for the laboratory door. She was a Medical Examiner by occupation but happily accepted invitations to lecture students, It offered a change of pace and paid reasonably well.

She had arrived at the lab five minutes early, rather than enter too soon she decided to make good used of the time and recollect herself. Her consistent punctuality was one of her most praised characteristics, however, she hoped that wasn't the sole reason why she was selected. perhaps, she confessed, she was intimidated by the circumstances. Her lectures had never been addressed to more than two hundred people at once, she and this doctor would have to lecture double that amount. He must be accustomed to it, she wondered if he could offer some words of encouragement.

She knocked on the door and did not have to wait very long for a muffled reply requesting her to enter. For a brief moment the doctor was adjusting his surgical instruments at the back of the room but after hearing the door open stopped what he was doing and turned to face her.

She was shocked - and a little embarrassed. He didn't look at all how she imagined him and quickly felt her cheeks colour. She wondered how harshly her expression portrayed her confusion. The man she beheld was not old and dour as she expected - in fact, he looked no older than she did, how could a young doctor be so accomplished? It was impossible, to possess such skill that takes multiple years to develop and master. He must have exaggerated his talents or she had made a superior error in judgement and wandered into the wrong laboratory.

She confessed to herself that she felt a little jealous, she was a competitive soul and disliked being inferior to those around her. True, this envy induced competitiveness was not a characteristic to be proud of - but it wasn't wholly without merit. It gave her drive and if she exercised self-control it could be used to her benefit.

She decided after a short hesitation that she had, infact, wandered into the wrong lab. He mustn't be the doctor she was expecting; but she couldn't account for her preconceived image of the man alone, it would be impertinent to dismiss him for his appearance. She would have to broach the subject and discover if he was indeed the doctor she intended to work with.

Before she could ask he greeted her cordially and offered her his hand.

"You must be Evangeline Gardner, I'm Vincent Acula"

His introduction put her mind at ease, she hadn't stumbled into the wrong room.

Evangeline beheld the gentleman before he spoke again and realized how severe her previous judgments had been. He was a foot taller than she was and possessed broad shoulders. She couldn't help but note his clothing, it didn't meet modern regulation: he wore a buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up, suit trousers, black Oxfords and on his right arm, he bore a buckled, leather tourniquet. Perhaps, her previous assumptions weren't entirely unjust. Did he dislike the modern era as she suspected? or did he simply admire the Victorian style?

Alas, now was not the time to pursue her curiosity. Further information would have to wait.

As he discussed in his letter with Evangeline the dissection would be filmed for his students, the proceeding dissections and lectures would be conducted in front of his students. She was pleasantly surprised, he did utilize technology, after all.

Vincent wasted no time introducing her to the examination table and the cadaver. She regarded the corpse and was surprised at its physical appearance: It was a young, Caucasian male, he died of complications due to shock. He had deep lacerations on his neck, inferior to his mandible and lateral from his clavicle.

This is strange, Evangeline thought, raising a brow. Two small puncture marks were located on his wrist. Were they bite marks? What could have bitten him? Are the two wounds linked? She couldn't say, the paperwork offered no further explanation. This aroused her suspicion but she forced the thought into submission. She was not here to determine the cause of death, she was here for a dissection, nothing more.

Vincent started the recording and went on to explain the aim of the dissection and how it supported the syllabus the students were being taught. She listened to him as he spoke and tried to subdue her curiosity, suppressing all urgent thoughts to the back of her mind.

"I'm lecturing my students on the vascular system and the components within the blood, I'll discuss the physiological implication in greater detail once we come across the key areas," He said in a soft tone, now propping himself up against the table. She nodded in understanding.

Evangeline focused on his hands as picked up a scalpel and began slicing down the torso, creating a Y-incision. His hands glided effortlessly across the corpse's skin, they were not too worn or dry; in fact, they appeared soft and... extremely pale? His complexion was almost indistinguishable from the corpse. Maybe he suffers from a disorder or preferred making himself look pale?

It was evident from his precision that he truly was skilled. Such talent would take years of experience to master, even those who learned quickly and trained from a young age would still be older than him by the time they achieved their Masters. She would have to broach the subject but was conscious of the camera, perhaps she should save such personal questions until after the dissection.

She clamped the chest cavity open, revealing all the structures and soft tissue beneath. Finally, she was able to put her mind at ease, this is what she trained to do and found great entertainment from. Throughout the examination she proved her worth, she was surprised to see how impressed Vincent was with her at present. He later commended her on how naturally she lectured.

They both spoke about the key areas in turns; demonstrating and explaining the layers of the blood vessels, the location of major and minor arteries, the anatomy of the heart, components within the blood and so on. He did, on a few occasions, broach other subjects, such as hematophagy and the circulatory system of the Icefish; stressing that it consisted of clear plasma instead of blood. She found that they didn't directly relate to the topics they were discussing, it seemed he liked to go on tangents, at least this showed he was passionate and well educated.

Hours ticked buy in what appeared to be a matter of minutes. This was no surprise to Evangeline, she found that once she focused on a task she enjoyed, time inevitably passed quicker. She wondered if Vincent felt the same. She hoped for an occasion to speak with him after they had concluded the dissection, perhaps this would present an opportunity to quell her curiosity towards him.

Thankfully she did not have to wait long. Vincent swiftly finished the recording and - with Evangeline's aid - cleared and cleaned the examination table. She was pleased - and not surprised - to see that he took sterilizing the environment seriously. She watched him as he scrubbed and buffed each instrument. Just as he was about to finish he turned his attention to her.

"I'd hate to impose but do you have the next hour free?" he inquired tentatively.

Evangeline couldn't have known the motive behind his inquiry but felt a wave of relief regardless. At least she didn't have to initiate the conversation. Now she could become better acquainted with him. She had to confess, pursuing curiosity was not the sole motivation for wanting to form a more in depth view of his character, she found him strangely attractive. Perhaps, she should feel a little worried about her newly formed interest in such a bizarre man. She admonished herself to keep her wits about her.

She confirmed that she was, in fact, free for the next hour and suggested a walk around the town center or the nearby pier; if that's what he preferred. He politely agreed to the walk on the pier and guided her out of the laboratory. As the weather was pleasant - which was unusual for Wales - Evangeline didn't bring a coat or wear extra layers but was stunned to see Vincent covering as much exposed skin as possible.

"It's 24 degrees outside. Surely, it is too warm to wear so much."

Vincent smiled, acknowledging how strange his behaviour must appear.

"I have Photodermatitis,-" he said, sliding his hands into his leather gloves "- Unfortunately, covering up is the most effective way to avoid triggering a reaction"

Evangeline raised her brows. He's allergic to sunlight? What a limiting, torturous condition to harbor. She couldn't begin to imagine his struggle and how restraining it must be. She wouldn't be able to bear not going outside and being restricted to the confines of her own home, she valued her freedom too much. However, he didn't confess that he suffered from the disease, in fact, he appeared indifferent. If he truly struggled with the condition, he did not show it. He must have become accustomed to living with it. Perhaps, this was the cause for his pale complexion?

As they were about to leave an woman in formal attire approached him. She possessed a tall, slim build. Like Vincent her skin was pale and contrasted with her hazel hair. She was beautiful - Evangeline thought, more so than herself - although she wouldn't admit it openly. The woman beckoned Vincent for his attention, expressing that she had urgent business to discuss with him. Vincent, who was polite enough to appear indifferent rather than annoyed, turned away from Evangeline and lowered his voice.

They did not talk long - at times she heard him become rather agitated. She couldn't have known why and did not wish to eavesdrop on a private conversation. Before the woman departed she shot Evangeline a glare which was very much unwarranted. She was momentarily caught off guard and decided to question Vincent on the matter.

"Does she look at other co-workers like that?"

Vincent nodded, "She's Candice; another doctor. Forgive her for her rudeness. She can't accept that I have no interest in pursuing a relationship with her and dislikes every woman I work with in consequence" He stated.

Evangeline felt indifferent. Candice's feelings were none of her concern. She and Vincent were colleagues, nothing more. It was Candice's duty to take responsibility for her own affections and come to terms with Vincent's rejection, not Evangeline's. She wanted no role in helping her through the process.

She walked outside and Vincent soon fell into step next to her. First, he praised her for her good work and stated how uncommon it was to come across such a conscientious individual and so on.

They continued to engage in light conversation - even quizzing each other on occasion. He asked her questions which she was happy to answer and offered some in return. He was unfailingly pleasant. Evangeline reprimanded herself for wondering why she thought I'll of the gentleman. Perhaps, she should still be cautious - even if just a little - after all, she was not well acquainted with him yet.

"You're very formal", She began, "Do you choose to behave and sound like that? or do you come from a privileged background?" Evangeline inquired.

"I choose to dress this way-", he started, "I didn't have the luxury of a privileged upbringing. I was born in Serga, Russia. My family had little money and no prospects. They spent my childhood saving enough money to emigrate to England."

The emotion he wore on his face was no riddle. Revisiting his past had caused him pain, much to Evangeline's dismay. She felt for the gentleman, she did not have the misfortune of being raised in poverty. She praised him on how well he had done for himself despite his circumstances.

"What about you?" He ventured, changing the subject "Do you live locally?"

She nodded, "I recently moved to Barmouth; it's only a short train journey from here", She said, "I never used to live locally. I actually grew up in the south, in Dorset," She continued, offering him a smile.

Vincent was not surprised. Neither of them possessed a Welsh accent, in fact, their accents sounded very similar.

Silence descended upon the two. They had nothing of importance to say and did not wish to speak for the sake of speaking. To Evangeline's surprise this did not promote awkwardness, it had quite the opposite effect. They felt perfectly at ease in each others company, quietly and peacefully admiring the world around them. The beckoning call of the Seagulls, the steady sound of the sea dragging back the shingle & their footwear hitting the cobblestone were the only things to break the silence. It was all rather pleasant.

Despite being surrounded by tranquility Evangeline's consciousness was writhing. She had suppressed her curiosity long enough and decided to broach the subject foremost on her mind. She had to consider her words carefully. She would be mortified if she caused any ill feelings and destroyed the pleasant atmosphere they had created.

"I've never come across anyone as young and skilled as you. It seems almost unbelievable. May I ask how old you are?"

He chuckled and cast his eyes down at her forwardness. At least he did not feel offended.

"I'm considerably older than I look" He teased, receiving a raised brow from Evangeline in return. For someone as straight-laced as a doctor, he was particularly talented at being coy. At least his evasion did not possess any malice.

Evangeline had expected him to evade the question, but to hear him do so out loud felt quite different. If anything, she found it rather disconcerting. He looked no older than 28. She sensed - from his answer - that he would not appreciate her pursuing her suit further and decided to no longer broach the subject.

By now they had walked quite a distance from the laboratory, she hoped that he had not forgotten the time. The conversations they had, had done nothing to quell her curiosity. If anything she was cast into further distress. If she were to work with him in the following months she would want to be well acquainted with him. At present, he was suspiciously secretive. Evangeline paused and thought for a moment. Perhaps, she had expected too much, after all this was their first meeting. He did appear shy, more so than herself.

Her thoughts returned to the cadaver they had just dissected. She still felt uneasy, the lack of explanation around his death was suspicious. Despite how cordial - and even amiable - she found Vincent to be, she could not deny that something seemed terribly amiss. Perhaps, he was hiding something? His shy and secretive behaviour would support this idea. She knew that the cadaver was acquired legally, Vincent had stated as much and the papers proved his claims. She would have to learn more about his character before casting any lasting judgment.


	2. Chapter 2

Several weeks had passed since the dissection. Evangeline was glad that she spent so much time in Vincent's company; they had grown closer as a result. It pleased her to discover that he wasn't so shy after all. In fact, he had been more than obliging and discussed his character openly. He revealed that he had three siblings: two older brothers and one younger sister. He had gone on to explain his hobbies and interests, many of which Evangeline shared. Even insignificant details such as his favourite style of coffee - which was black - she knew.

Despite the positive encounters, she felt somewhat guilty. She had accused him of being secretive and it was she who was secretive now. At present, she knew more about his character than he knew of hers. Unlike her accusation, her reticence was not intentional. Evangeline found Vincent so captivating when he spoke that it completely escaped her mind to elaborate on her own disposition.

She felt defeated; she had previously longed for an opportunity to speak with him and when the occasion presented itself she made ill use of it. Now they had no time, she had to return to the criminology lab and had to continue to teach. On the days when they did meet - either at the train station or the university - they were often not in each other's company long enough to speak. It was impossible to engage in polite conversation when they lectured - the situation would not allow it. It was so strange, to be so close to one another but unable to take pleasure in a discussion, everything they wanted to say had to remain unsaid.

Was Vincent as keen on pursuing her friendship? He seemed perfectly cordial when they met. When the circumstances prevented them from being in each other's company - or the distance was too great between them that shouting would be considered useless or impertinent - he would offer a smile and wave. The gesture was simple enough, but it cheered her up more than she cared to admit.

On one occasion, when she was about to disembark the train from work - and had almost given up all hope of seeing him again - she heard _him_ call her name. She was momentarily confused and a little embarrassed; she hadn't seen him on the platform edge or expected him to call upon her. She hoped that he hadn't spent a long time waiting.

Vincent approached her directly, greeting her with his usual fondness. He inquired about her well-being and family and was relieved to hear that they were all doing well. His interest in her health had never come as a surprise to Evangeline - he was a doctor after all.

She wondered what his intentions were. He had been exceptionally busy in the past few weeks. Why now would he seek her out? Perhaps, he needed her expertise again or, he had something of importance to discuss. She did not think he harboured any tender feelings towards her. When they had met, he gave no inclination of wanting to pursue a romantic relationship. He had been friendly and courteous, nothing more. This train of thought quickly made her feel uneasy; she had not discussed the state of her affections with him. Over the past month, she had grown to admire him greatly: not just for his looks, but for his wit and gentle manner. She had tried to dismiss her feelings, again and again, but - in the end - could not. Instead, She found herself grasping at any glimmer of hope that his feelings were the same as her own.

"Are you busy this evening?" he ventured, now walking alongside her.

Evangeline struggled to hide her disappointment. She was busy, but could not let this opportunity go. Who knows when another occasion such as this would present itself. If she rejected his offer and declared that she did not have the time for him, it would leave the bond they shared in ruins. She would have to think of a resolution.

"Evangeline?"

"A little. I can make time for you, though." She reassured him, "Why do you ask?"

He smiled at her. "I wanted to see you. We haven't spoken recently and I admire your company-"

Evangeline was surprised, she thought his coming was because of a different motive. She did not suspect that he desired her company at all, in fact; she thought quite the opposite.

"- May I ask what you're busy with?"

She nodded and obliged him.

"I'm still moving in." She started, "I had hoped that I'd be finished by this evening, but that's not the case. The building work has been delayed and now I can't move in fully... To add to this, I have nowhere to stay. I can't ask my family as they have their own tasks they need to get on with, and I don't want to be a burden."

She paused for a moment and considered her options, "... I suppose I'll have to find a cheap hotel."

Vincent took pity. There was little possibility of finding a hotel with vacancies at this time of night.

He returned his attention to her. He had learned a great deal about her character over the last few weeks and discovered that expressing her misfortune did not come easy to Evangeline. It was this sudden openness which caught him unawares. Why would she confide in him? He was not displeased, on the contrary, he admired it.

"That is a problem," he mused, tapping his lip with his knuckle.

It would be unkind of him to not offer her his help, particularly after confiding in him. He did not think she'd refuse it.

"You are welcome to find respite at my home," he started, "I feel we have known each other long enough for that to be a viable option, would you not agree?"

Evangeline nodded and took a moment to thank him for his kindness; it was quite unnecessary. He could have offered her his sympathy and done nothing more. She wondered how many of those in her acquaintance would have done the same? Another question came to mind whilst they continued to walk: Why was he so willing to help her? She knew that this situation would cause him some hardship; she wasn't naïve enough to believe differently, did he have a motive? Or was she looking too deeply into his kind nature? - She couldn't say.

Evangeline promised herself that she would make it up to him once she had finished her stay.

She would have to return home and pack her suitcase before heading to his cottage. She had never heard him discuss his home, and she wondered what it looked like, although, it seemed unwise to stay in a house which she had never seen nor visited.

Vincent offered to accompany her on the walk back, which she accepted. He continued the conversation - just like before. Again, he seemed perfectly polite, even amiable and - dare she say: charming. They would, occasionally, engage in a playful exchange: She would tease him or exercise her wit, and he would be decidedly coy. She would smile, especially after she had caught him admiring her. She found it fascinating how a single look could carry such clear emotion. His gaze did not possess the longing of desire or the burning intensity of lust; Instead, his gaze was soft and gentle, comparable to the eyes of someone caressing one's cheek. Perhaps that was what he was envisioning.

Did he share the same affections she harboured? Or was reading too deeply into his character again? - If only she knew him better. Yes, they were better acquainted than before, but their friendship was still new. Both of them had a lot to learn about each other's character.

Evangeline wondered what he must think of her at present. She hoped that he was not displeased. She did not think of herself wholly without merit - she wasn't unattractive - but she didn't possess the beauty which her co-workers and friends flaunted. Her career did little to recommend her to others. They had come to the conclusion that Evangeline's job was a respectable one, but something must be amiss for her to enjoy such a morbid atmosphere; even her mother shared the same view - despite wording it differently - 'eccentric' is the descriptive she would use. She hoped that Vincent didn't share the same perspective.

Evangeline sighed and turned her thoughts towards more practical matters.

Her curiosity surrounding the dissection hadn't subsided in the past weeks. She had since re-examined the police report and found nothing conclusive, if anything, it left her more confused than before. The man - then labelled as missing - was found, face down, in an abandoned boathouse along the coast of Fairbourne. He was pronounced dead on site. The cause of death: hypovolemic shock.

This information alone didn't confuse Evangeline; it was consistent with the appearance of the corpse. What confused her was the circumstances of his death. For a man who bled out, there was hardly any blood surrounding him - only a small splatter originating from the lacerations in his neck. The investigators dismissed several scenarios: he wasn't dragged into the boathouse because there was no trail and it couldn't have been suicide because the wounds weren't self-inflicted. Murder seemed to be the most plausible option, but it didn't explain the bite mark. There was no bruising around the puncture holes and no imprinting from other teeth.

It was so strange; she thought. The circumstances that lead to this death were difficult to determine. Despite the investigators' best efforts, they archived the case, classifying it as unknown. At first, she was glad to discover that they had archived the case. She hoped it would offer her some consolation. But that was not to be, this case stoked her curiosity - more so than anything before. Did Vincent read the police report, too? Was he just as curious?

It was then she heard Vincent address her.

"Are you prepared for the dissection tomorrow?"

Oh, she had almost forgotten. Her mind had been so occupied as of late, that she paid very little thought towards the final cadaveric dissection. She longed to not make a fool of herself. She didn't want to fear Vincent's scrutiny.

This wasn't her first visit to the operation theatre - she had been once before. Its remembrance gave her pleasure; she could picture the old, tiered seats and marble floor. The theatre was grand, far grander than any other she had visited. She wondered if it had been renovated.

She responded to him with a nod.

"Yes, let's hope it's not as strange as the last one." She teased, nudging him in the side with her elbow.

He gave a sheepish smile and rubbed his neck. Perhaps her sense of humour wasn't to his taste after all.


	3. Chapter 3

After what appeared to be half a mile of walking, she spotted a small cottage shrouded by trees. Since there were no further houses, she suspected that this was Vincent's home. If it was not, then she would become increasingly concerned. Not that she believed he would lead her astray and harm her; she didn't see him as a villain; on the contrary, She doubted he was capable of such ill intent; he didn't possess the character.

When they made their way to the main entrance, she took the opportunity to study the cottage further. It was exceptionally pretty - more so than the ones they had passed only moments prior. The cottage was clad with Welsh stone and had matching slate roofing. To the right of the building, there was a small, white annexe. Evangeline thought it was a shame for such a picturesque house to be hidden almost entirely from view. Huge pine trees shielded the left side of his home and cast the rest in broken shadows. She was pleased to discover that the back of his home did not share the same concealed appearance as the front; Instead, it backed onto open fields - she could even see the river Dwynant in the distance.

Evangeline remained silent as they approached the door, she couldn't decide whether her reticence was due to quiet appreciation or restrained envy - perhaps, it was a mix of both? She wondered if others shared her admiration for his cottage. It did not possess the grandiose size or style of other homes; Instead, it appeared small and cosy.

Just as Vincent approached the front door, he paused and turned to look at her.

"I hope you have no issue with cats," he teased.

Evangeline shyly shook her head. She had grown up with several cats on the farm and enjoyed their silly antics; whether they were sleeping in the hay-stacks or terrorising the chickens, she remembered it all fondly; alas, those days were long gone now. She wondered if his cat shared the same temperament as her own?

She did not have to wonder for long.

Vincent opened the oak door to reveal a long-haired, white cat sat behind it. Evangeline smiled. It must have been waiting patiently for his return. Her cats did no such thing, they would often walk past her when she entered the house and would only be seen waiting if it was approaching tea-time. It appeared his cat did not share the same temperament at all.

He gestured towards Evangeline, beckoning her to come in. He did not enter first; Instead, he waited until she had stepped inside before following and closing the door behind them. Finally, she could see what her temporary abode looked like.

At once Evangeline's shoulders dropped. She had previously reprimanded herself for her prejudices towards Vincent and decided to no longer harbour any more unjust assumptions towards him. Despite this, she could not have predicted what his home would look like, even if she had wanted too. It was exceptionally rustic and old-fashioned; It reminded her of the farm she grew up on and found the homely atmosphere rather pleasant. She could never have guessed that he was the type of man who would take pleasure in the solitude of the countryside. In that respect, they were very much the opposite. She felt quite happy to leave her slow-paced, arduous country-life behind. They both must have desired what they never had growing up, she concluded.

Whilst Evangeline paused in thought; Vincent quickly turned his attention towards his cat, which was now weaving in-and-out between his ankles. He bent down and in one smooth motion, carefully scooped it up; cradling it in his arms. This silenced its cries immediately.

"Allow me to show you around" He requested, now looking up from the feline in his arms.

Evangeline thanked him warmly and placed her suitcase down by the settee. At present, they were both standing in the lounge. It was by far the most spacious room in the house. There were two armchairs, one settee and a coffee table - all of which circled a grand fireplace, and directly in front of her, there was a small, open kitchen.

He proceeded to guide her around his home, introducing her to his bedroom, the bathroom and finally his study - which he did not allow her to enter. Evangeline couldn't help but grow increasingly anxious as he continued to show her each room, since none of which appeared to be her bedroom. She hoped that she had a place to sleep; she did not expect Vincent to give up his bed for her whilst he slept elsewhere. She decided to be frank and question him on the matter.

"Oh, forgive me for not showing you sooner. The settee is the only place I can offer. I hope this isn't a problem?" He asked tentatively.

She shook her head.

"Not at all," Evangeline began whilst reaching for her suitcase. "I wouldn't want to burden you by being a fuss; the settee is fine."

He shook his head and smiled at her.

"You'd never be a burden. I take great pleasure in being in your company."

Hard as she tried, she couldn't help but blush at his earnest compliment. He gave them so regularly that she was sure it had become a habit. Of course, this did nothing but fan the flames of her infatuation. Previously, she never suspected that he shared her feelings, but now she was more unsure than ever. What a teasing man! Would he continue to send her mixed messages? She would ask him if she wasn't so frightened of his answer, what if he disliked her questioning and threw her out in response? If only he'd give her a sign.

By now, Vincent had wandered into the kitchen and was in the midst of making her a tea. He must have recalled a prior conversation about how she preferred it, she thought. Evangeline looked out of the window. It had grown very dark since they had left the train station, the air had become still and peaceful; even the full moon did little to chase away the darkness. She found it all quite pleasant. She had no trouble imagining how she would spend her evenings in such a house. Perhaps, she...

"Comfy?" Vincent inquired, now placing her tea on the coffee table.

Evangeline nodded, no longer absent-mindedly watching the world outside.

Vincent sat in the armchair to the left of her.

"How was work?"

Evangeline shrugged.

"Nothing out of the ordin... Well, nothing like before at least", She corrected herself and continued, "Speaking of which, did you discover anything else about the murder case?"

He shook his head.

"I never gave it much thought and did not think to investigate it further-"

"But you must have noticed how strange his wounds were and how he had no family or connections to speak of?", She paused for a moment, "I believe there is more to this than what first appears."

"Indeed, they were strange, but I can offer no explanation. We must hope, for all that it's worth, that nothing of that nature occurs again" He concluded.

Evangeline's shoulders dropped at his mention of 'no explanation'. She felt defeated; her once intense curiosity was, within an instant, reduced to nothing. She had hoped that Vincent could offer her some consolation on the matter, but that was not to be. She would have to move on, for the sake of her sanity - and Vincent's peace of mind, of course - she very much doubted that he would want to listen to her constant questioning about the subject. Maybe tomorrow could take her mind off it?


	4. Chapter 4

Evangeline had slept ill, the combination of an uncomfortable settee and an overwhelming sense of dread made for a restless night. This feeling of uncertainty had rarely left her side as of late and she could no longer dismiss it. She felt conflicted; Each choice she made plagued her with guilt regardless of the outcome and nowhere was this more apparent than when she was with Vincent.

At present, he stood by the theatre door and was anxiously peeking through the porthole window. That's strange. It was unlike him to be nervous. She could not guess what was weighing on his mind - having only seen him once this morning. She knew that he had left the house before she did; It was possible that something could have happened in the meantime to change his mood.

"Are you all right, Vincent?" She asked earnestly.

In an instant, he turned to face her. It seemed that she had caught him unawares. He appeared startled at first, but his resolve was firm, he would not benefit from the situation by arousing her suspicion further. Evangeline remained silent for a moment - allowing him the time to respond - before looking through the adjacent porthole conspicuously.

He smiled stiffly.

"I'm fine, thank you... I haven't used this theatre a great deal. I wanted to get a better look.", He paused and clutched his gloves awkwardly in front of him.

Evangeline raised a brow. She had never questioned Vincent's honesty and didn't wish to do so now. She could not bring herself to work with a man whom she felt suspicious of, let alone not trust. It pained her to imagine what it would be like to be without his company; the joy she felt when in his presence would be reduced to nothing but a pleasant memory, another more troubling thought forced itself upon her. She was certain that he would withdraw his offer of letting her stay if she were to end their friendship. Where would she go?

Evangeline shook her head. Perhaps, she was looking too deeply into his behaviour. He had always tried to sustain an open and candid discussion when they were together; there was no reason to suggest that he wasn't doing so now. Maybe his nerves had gotten the better of him?

She would have to stop now and allow them to take their leave, or risk being late to the dissection.

Evangeline did not dare to look up from the corpse in fear of making a mistake. In all of her years of practice, she had never lectured a class this large; She hoped that she had not overestimated her abilities because her confidence had severely wavered over the last month.

She scoffed softly, how Vincent would grin if he knew how she felt. He would tease her; she was sure of that. She wasn't as experienced as he was in these matters and he was not the type of man to give uninvited lessons. This didn't displease her though; An unwanted lecture from him would leave her deeply perturbed and dispel the small amount of confidence that she had left.

She watched him as his hands entered her field of vision. They still possessed the soft, pale appearance from before, but they no longer glided skillfully across the cadaver's skin; Instead, they trembled. If he was nervous he did not let it on, he seemed serious and wore the same look of concentration which she had come to associate with these sorts of endeavours.

At first, the proceeds did not differ from the previous dissection; They had opened and clamped the chest cavity like before, and Evangeline was just beginning to enjoy herself until she saw what lay beneath. At once, she froze. Her body remained completely still. Her eyes not leaving the cadaver's chest.

'_How is this possible?'_

Vincent returned her look of uncertainty and bent down to meet her gaze.

"What's the matter?" he whispered earnestly. "Why have you stopped?"

She was certain that she heard Vincent address her, but she could not conjure up a coherent response. She could barely comprehend what she was seeing.

The cadaver's organs were malformed and misshapen. Its heart was enlarged and porous; its stomach was oversized but empty; even its entire vasculature was different. Its vessels contained no blood, instead, they housed a clear fluid.

Uncovering enlarged organs was not new to Evangeline, many of her clientele had succumbed to such conditions, but nothing resembled what laid in front of her. Vincent had previously stated that 'the cadaver had lived with this condition for the entirety of its life', but she couldn't have known that this is what he had alluded to or the severity of it. She very much doubted that he was telling the truth: no one, animal or human could have lived for so long in such a state.

By now, Evangeline had become quite anxious. She was sure her face portrayed her confusion, and she turned to Vincent to see if he was just as distressed: he was not, instead he appeared sheepish and urged Evangeline to continue.

In an instant, her attitude changed.

"Have you not looked at what is on the slab?" She whispered sternly.

He flinched at her change of tone and looked around the room. Their students had remained quiet until now and to Evangeline's dismay, they had all turned their attention towards her; Some looked at her frowning and confused, whilst others muttered between themselves.

"Please, calm down." he pleaded. "I don't want you to make a scene."

He reached out and tried to take hold of her wrist, but she quickly pulled it away.

"You don't want me making a scene?! What's going on? Please tell me."

At this, his shoulders dropped, and he turned away from her.

It seemed that she would have to question his honesty after all. She was disappointed but not surprised; It was foolhardy to place her trust in a man whom she had only known for a little over a month. She wanted to question him, but could no longer trust the responses he would give. How are you involved? What happened to the man in the first dissection? Who or what is the corpse that lay in front of me? Are they both linked? Why is the class being shown these? If he was not prepared to give her the answers she sought; she would have to find the answers herself.

There was little more she could discover in these circumstances and being under constant surveillance did little to calm her nerves. If only she could examine the cadaver freely. She doubted that such an occasion would arise; she would not have access to it after today's dissection.

Alas, she would have to reconcile herself with the limited time that remained. Vincent was right of course, she did not wish to make a scene and draw any more attention to herself. Rather ironically, his admonition did not have the desired effect at all. Instead, she derived some use from it. If she wanted to investigate these strange occurrences, it would not be in her best interest to arouse suspicion. So, she would have to cooperate - if just for a little while.

This was not a fitting solution though; she did not wish to deceive him. She doubted that she could fake equanimity and comply after discovering so much - she was too headstrong. She sorely hoped that he would change his mind and confess. Perhaps, once time has passed, things could be discussed more calmly.

The train journey home was an awkward affair. Vincent didn't dare to meet her gaze and allowed the patterned flooring to divert his attention instead. Evangeline remained silent and did not speak to Vincent at all. She was still confused, but her anger had now been replaced with fear. She knew nothing of his intentions or how the situation had come to be; If he was involved with the murder of the first corpse, could the same thing happen to her? Could she end up on the slab too?

Evangeline cupped her forehead. What a day this had been! She couldn't stay with the man - not now. She hadn't yet unpacked her belongings; Perhaps she could hurry back and retrieve them before making her way home.

She focused her gaze on Vincent. She wanted to hate him, if not for his reticence, then for his deliberate refusal to explain the circumstances. But she could not conjure up the hatred; Instead, she remained hopeful, hopeful that he was innocent and that this was all a misunderstanding. Maybe, if she pressed her suit, he would tell her.

"... Vincent?"

He looked up from the floor.

"Please tell me, what's going on?", She felt tears come to her eyes.

Vincent remained silent, appearing to consider his options. If only she knew what he was thinking, his body language could only tell her so much. She could see - that just for a moment - his resolve had faltered. He was no longer awkwardly standing across from her, instead; he seemed defeated. Would he tell her the truth? Or remain quiet despite his guilty conscience?

"You would not believe me-"

Evangeline interrupted, eager to reassure him.

He sighed and looked at the full carriage around him. It was too busy; she doubted that he would confess under such circumstances.

"I will explain everything once we are home," he whispered.

Evangeline raised a brow. At present, she didn't know what to believe; She didn't trust him, but this was her only opportunity to discover what everything was about. If she argued with him or convinced him to concede on her terms, he might not confess at all. She would have to take him for his word.

Silence descended upon the two, there was nothing more to discuss. They could no longer pursue the question at the forefront of their minds; even Vincent, who was the most gregarious of the two, could not conjure up a distracting conversation.

Eventually, after multiple stops and a short distance of walking, his house came into view. The quiet and isolated nature of his home had become more apparent to Evangeline now that all the commuters had dispersed. To her dismay, Vincent spoke very little. They were alone, yet he did not utter a word. On the train, he had promised her an explanation, and she was certain that he had not forgotten.

As they approached the front door, she stopped and refused to go any further.

"I'm not stepping inside until you tell me what's going on," she warned, now crossing her arms defensively.

Despite her firm protest, she still felt vulnerable. It was most foolhardy to follow him back home - especially to a house as isolated as this one. If he had ill-intentions he could, quite easily see them through without fear of interference.

Vincent turned towards her and took a deep breath.

"First, I... I must apologise for my reticence. I can see how troubling this must be for you," he started.

She remained silent. '_It has been more than troubling_' she thought. Ever since she first laid eyes on him, she had been cast into a state of distress. This bizarre doctor had introduced her to the strangest of circumstances, all of which he gave no explanation for. Yet, he did not spare a thought for her emotions until now.

"... I fear that you will not believe me, but I will do my best to enlighten you."

She almost cried out in protest at the mention of 'disbelief'.

"Forgive me for my lack of eloquence, because I have no idea how to explain this properly... but, the cadaver which we dissected today was not human-"

At once her expression fell flat.'_Is this man for real?_'. He was right, she did not believe him at all. The cadaver's organs were abnormal to be sure, but it was human. She could not convince herself otherwise.

"It was a vampire."

It was only expected that both parties would now become silent. There had been many silences between them, but this was the longest of them all. How was Evangeline supposed to respond to such a statement? After a moment of contemplation, she knew.

"You're fucking insane."

She turned away from him, not wanting to hear anymore. She couldn't say how she felt, each emotion fought so desperately for her attention that she felt a strange mix of them all.

"Am I?" He snapped defensively, "Enlighten me, Evangeline. How many humans have you come across which have plasma instead of blood? How many humans have you met, which are alive, with such abnormal anatomy? You may not believe me, but you will have too."

She turned to face him once more, her cheeks now wet with tears.

"...But how does this relate to you?... How are you involved?... Why were students being shown this? What about the first cadaver we saw? What about the bite mar-"

The bite marks. At once her body became stiff. A vampire murdered the man. That would explain the bizarre circumstances around his death; the isolated area, the lack of blood, the hypovolemic shock. Another question forced itself upon her. If the man was murdered by a vampire, why would Vincent use the body for a dissection? Only he knew the answer to this.

"I don't teach human students, you see. They are all vampires wanting to have a career in the medical field. It is my job to educate them on the patients they will see: Vampires and humans. I showed them the first cadaver so they could understand what a vampire attack looks like and how it affects the human anatomy. The 2nd cadaver was used to educate them on their anatomy..."

"What about you?" She inquired tearfully, "Are you a vampire?"

He confirmed it.

"Did... did you kill the man? - The first cadaver, I mean."

He shook his head.

"I have no desire to hurt humans. I wouldn't have become a doctor if I did"

By now, Evangeline had become quite pale. She was exhausted: emotionally & physically. The constant fear she had felt for the last few hours had taken its toll and she was uncertain whether she could endure anymore. Before she could leave, Vincent addressed her.

"I can see that this has overwhelmed you." He said in a soft tone.

He took a step towards her and offered her his hand.

"You should come inside, it is getting dark."


	5. Chapter 5

Evangeline sank into the settee and shifted her gaze towards the ornate clock on the mantlepiece, its dull metallic chime repeatedly trying to draw both of their attention. It was ten O'clock and had grown dark outside, the black backdrop cloaking whatever lay behind the reflective window-pains.

Vincent went about the room lighting the various candelabra, his silhouette passing by each flame with the grace of a dancer. He stopped in front of the fireplace, basking in its warmth; Its soft glow highlighting the silk threads in his waistcoat and the features of his face. He remained still, his eyes studying the flame; they seemed so welcoming and familiar, even in periods of reflection. Was this unique to him? Or universal amongst all vampires?

She looked to the left of him; her gaze coming to rest on her reflection in the mirror. It was the glimmer of the fire in her dark-auburn hair that had caught her eye, it was parted at the side and brushed behind her ears before ending in a bun. It did little to catch the loose strands, and they fell alongside her fringe to frame her face. She continued to look at herself, noticing how different she and Vincent were in appearance. His pale face seemed so alien and ghostly in the mirror, yet it felt so familiar and recognisable. How could she not have identified what he was sooner? His vampiric features were not subtle; but if he were a stranger, she would pass him buy in the street without as much of a second glance.

Perhaps, subconsciously, she did guess what he was? But rejected her assumption under the guise that it was impossible for such a being to exist: that reality and rationality forbid it. But her perception of what was real and what was rational was wrong. She had to admit to it and learn to live with this new reality: that vampires existed. Perhaps, not like the myth and legend that surrounded them, but they did exist, in the flesh, stood before her. Just as real as she was. How could she learn to accept such a thing? What ethical and moral dilemmas their existence would rise! What mysterious happenings were truly caused by his kind and not by the divine or by chance?

Evangeline reached for her eyes, covering them with her palms. She couldn't bring herself to look up at him. Then she heard his footsteps on the wooden floor. She focused on their sound as he moved about the room before growing stiff as the sound stopped in front of her. He crouched and reached out for her hands, gently coaxing them away for her eyes.

"Don't be frightened, I promise I won't hurt you." He said tenderly.

"It's not... I'm not frightened of you... I just can't believe..." Her voice trailed off, believing her attempt to convey her distress as futile.

Vincent sighed softly and released her hands before walking to his armchair. What a day this has been for both of them! She quietly sympathised with his feeling of vulnerability. He had put himself at risk by revealing what he was. It was not in his best interest to confess his vampirism to her - he could have lied about his disposition - yet he didn't. He willingly and candidly offered her the truth despite the consequences.

"You must have a lot of questions," He inquired tentatively.

Evangeline cupped her forehead. She was not entirely sure where to start; she had so many. She didn't want to overwhelm the man or herself. Which questions were the most pressing? Perhaps, she could begin by asking one of those.

"You said you didn't murder the first cadaver, do you know who did?"

He shook his head.

"I'm uncertain, I have my suspicions but the police never identified a lead. All I know is that the perpetrator is male."

"How can you tell? I found nothing when I read through the cadaver's papers."

He gestured towards his canines.

"Males have broader, shorter fangs. The puncture holes in the cadaver's skin were too wide and unkempt to be inflicted by a female. If they were smaller and more needle-like, then the opposite would be true."

Evangeline's eyes lit up with intrigue. The more Vincent revealed about vampires, the more curious she grew. She wondered about all the things he could reveal to her, and she hoped that he would continue to enlighten her, just as willingly and candidly as he did at present.

She leaned forward on the settee, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and excitement.

"What about yourself?" She inquired, now resting her elbows on her knees. "How old are you, truthfully? Were you always a vampire? Or were you transformed?"

He chuckled and directed his gaze towards her clasped hands.

"I'm 274, and I was born this way, so was everyone in my family." He shifted in his armchair and appeared to think for a moment, "I've met no one who I believe to be 'transformed'... Turning humans is a taboo subject in vampiric society and is rarely discussed, as a result, little is known about it. I set out to change this though - when I first entered the medical field. I searched for scripture which hinted at the prospect for decades. Literature which I found was of little use to me - well, apart from a few pages of an old, medieval book. They were poorly transcribed or written in a lost dialect. I soon grew tired of useless scriptures and conducted studies of my own. I dissected the corpses of vampires hoping to discover something that aided with 'the transformation'. Eventually, I found what I was looking for: a pair of finger-sized glands under the tongue. They produced and stored an enzyme that can 'turn' a human when introduced into their bloodstream - the vampire must consciously secrete this enzyme for the process to happen. Other than this, I know nothing else of the process, I have no idea how this works or why It won't work on other species... I'm sorry, have I overwhelmed you?"

Evangeline shook her head. She was glad that he explained so much; It removed the possibility of her being confused and unsure of what he was trying to communicate. She decided to ask another question but paused for a moment as if to consider her words; her face betraying her uneasiness.

"May I... ask what you feed on?"

She rubbed her arm soothingly, expecting a gruesome response in return.

"Animal blood. Rather than discarding it, the local butcher sells the excess to me," He paused in thought before letting out a soft chuckle, "He used to question me on why I would ask for so much, so frequently. I often joked about needing it for my patients - I worked in a hospital as a cardiologist at the time. He would appear to laugh with me, but I often caught him looking at me with suspicion."

Evangeline smiled with him.

"Do other vampires feed on animal blood?"

"Most of them do, but not all of them share the same moral stance - as shown by the first corpse. These vampires are a dying breed though, they can not get away with the frequent killings like they did in the past. It is a shame that most vampires still view humans with the same disdain that they have held centuries before: that humans may no longer be food, but are still no different from cattle in the fields."

Both parties remained quiet, disappointed in his species views.

'_If this is true,_' Evangeline mused, '_why help me? Why befriend me? Why heal the sick and instruct young vampires to do the same?' _She already knew the answer to these, but wanted to hear it from him.

"Do you believe this?"

A smile formed on his lips.

"Of course not. If I truly believed that I wouldn't be speaking to you as I am now. I take great pleasure in being in the company humans. I have learned many things from them which I would not have learned from my kind: sympathy, empathy, morality, and appreciation for the world around me. I would never have discovered my love for biology if it weren't for humans. I have matured throughout the ages alongside humanity..." He lent back into his armchair, "... I have no ill feelings towards your kind at all."

It was Inevitable that a smirk would slowly spread across her cheeks. She was flattered by such an earnest admission; few humans viewed their kind with such high regard.

"There must be other vampires which admire humans just as must as you do."

He nodded.

"My siblings share my sentiment... well, my sister and her wife, more so than my brothers... I am certain that some members of the wider population entertain these views."

"That's good. I'm guessing your students share this admiration."

"They ought too."

Silence now descended upon the two, their conversation had progressed to a natural end - an end which Evangeline did not welcome. Her mind was ablaze, she bore so many questions, ones which she couldn't even begin to express. Yet their exchange had run dry. _'This would not do!'_ She needed answers. She desperately hoped that he would read her taut face and give her the means to pursue her curiosity again.

"What about you?" He ventured, now cradling his cheek in his palm.

"Hmm?"

She looked up at him with her brows raised, appearing to forget that there was a world beyond her musings. This was not the 'means' which she had hoped for.

Vincent repeated himself.

"... I know very little about you, despite being in your acquaintance. I've opened up about my character before, yet you speak very little about yourself." He seemed more inquisitive now. Speaking to her softly.

Evangeline sighed. She had previously noted her reticence and wished that she could give him a reason for it, but there was none. She found him so enthralling that she didn't want to bore the man with her character. His extraordinary being only highlighted how ordinary she was in comparison: she didn't possess his intellect, his various skills, or his capacity to live for centuries. Being with him made her realise just how unremarkably... human she was.

"Oh, there's not much to know."

"Indulge me." He roused, his voice like warm velvet.

She flushed at his change in tone and instinctively averted her gaze; persuaded by the irrational hope that he did not see her rosy-pink cheeks, but she was certain that he could feel the warmth radiating from her pale skin. She did not want to give him a reason to suspect her state of affections. It would be most foolhardy to fall in love with a vampire; she doubted that they could live a life of peaceful domesticity. Even the most steadfast would succumb to boredom or the temptation of mortal blood, she did not convince herself to believe otherwise.

She escaped from her musings, realising now that she must answer him.

"Well, what would you like to know about me?"

"Tell me about your family, your history. Do you have any lovers to speak of?"

Her cheeks burned a darker shade of rouge at his mention of 'lovers'. It was noticeable enough that even he raised a brow in return.

"I-I'm not in a relationship, and regarding my family, I'm an only child. My mother's a primary school teacher and my father's a butcher, I grew up on his farm - before he sold it, helping him tend for the animals and what-not." She paused in reflection, her mouth poised as if to speak, "In many ways, I'm thankful for my upbringing, it's made me independent and self-sufficient, but I can't say I enjoyed it. I had to mature quickly because of my responsibilities and never spent much time just enjoying being a kid. My parents tried their best with me, but I won't hesitate to say that they were neglectful... That's why I couldn't wait to move out and pursue my career..."

She remained fixated on the fireplace at first, not acknowledging Vincent's silence. Then she looked up at him, suddenly aware of her surroundings.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have rambled on about my emotional baggage. I doubt you want to hear it."

He shook his head, reassuring her she could discuss anything with him and that he would listen. He then turned the conversation to more practical matters.

"Do you still feel comfortable staying for the week? I understand if you do not."

She smiled at him before confirming that she would stay.

They spoke nothing more of his vampirism that evening but remained in each others company for a short while after. She couldn't have given a reason as to what compelled him to stay. She sat their enslaved by her musings, her mind growing weary from the emotional strain and the promise of sleep. She couldn't recall whether he retired for his bedroom or dozed off in his chair, just as she did.


	6. Chapter 6

Vincent was no longer in his chair when she awoke. She could feel the weekend sun streaming through the windows and onto her exposed skin; It's warmth not dissimilar from that of the fire, which was now a pile of smouldering ashes in the firepit. She shifted on the settee and felt the tug of a silk blanket against her arms. Its unexpected appearance baffling her. She hadn't fallen asleep with it and was certain that she did not get up and reach for it in the night, yet it was there.

It was then that she heard Vincent leave his room. His gentle footsteps were barely audible over the sound of the door clicking shut behind him. He was finely dressed; the sun catching the white fabric of his shirt despite his best attempts to avoid its rays.

He looked towards her, his hazel eyes passing over the mass of silk which lay crumpled around her clothed form; as if he were subtly admitting that it was he who had put it there.

She observed him as he walked into the kitchen. Seemingly curious as to what a vampire would need from such a room. He faced away from her, reaching for the frying pan that hung on the wall and placed it on the stovetop. The sheet stuck to her skin as she struggled against it, peering over the back of the settee hoping to see what was in the pan. If he was preparing blood for himself, he did not let it on. Perhaps, he was masking it to avoid startling her again?

The familiar, rich aroma of seasoned meat soon filled the air. Evangeline closed her eyes and inhaled the pungent scent. It reminded her of her father's butchery. The moment she would enter the shop a cacophony of pleasant smells would catch her attention, all of which grew more intense the closer she got to their threshold. A smile curved her lips at its remembrance, she could envision the cured meats hanging on the racks and the freshly dispatched pork in the freezer room, their alien appearance filling her younger self with morbid fascination. Perhaps, he shouldn't have let her enter the rear of the butchery as willingly as he did, witnessing death strung upon racks became a common occurrence in her childhood. Eventually, she came to find peace amongst the solitude of his shop, working quietly beside him when she found the time.

Evangeline stood up from the settee, placing the folded sheet over the arm before gathering a spare change of clothes and walking into the bathroom. The room was small but sported delicate tiles and furnishings; its design reminiscent of an era not long forgotten. She ran a bath for herself; as there was no shower, then quickly changed into her new clothes. When she emerged from the bathroom, she found Vincent sitting in his armchair eating his breakfast.

As she drew nearer, she could finally see what he had been preparing: it was black pudding. It wasn't the food in question which shocked her; it surprised her that he could consume food at all. She half expected him to emerge from the kitchen with fresh blood for himself.

"I didn't think Vampires could eat human food." She remarked, now perched on the edge of the settee.

He shook his head and covered his lips with his finger as if to usher silence before finishing his mouthful.

"Indeed. This is the only 'human food' my body can tolerate."

"Then why eat it?"

"I feared that I would cause further distress by drinking blood in front of you."

A playful smile spread across her cheeks.

"You're afraid that I, a medical examiner, would fear the sight of blood?"

A smile tugged at his lips and he shook his head, chuckling at the absurdity of his worry as if it were irrational.

With that, he turned away, returning his plate to the kitchen before retrieving his coat and gloves. She eyed him from afar, keeping her gaze subtle as not to draw his attention. His words stuck with her, as if they were an echo; their unintended malice instilling enough fear to rob her cheeks of their rosy sheen. She hadn't lied to him, the sight of blood had little effect on her, yet she was filled with worry; worry that he may feed upon her instead, despite his firm moral stance.

"Where are you going?" She asked, despite her uneasiness. The prospect of being left alone in his home filling her with greater anxiety.

"To church, you're welcome to join me." He said earnestly, slipping his hand into his glove. The light dancing on the wet leather.

"Oh. No, I'd rather not. I'm an atheist..."

"So am I." He smiled reassuringly, "I go because I enjoy the atmosphere, it's good for reflection... Perhaps you'll enjoy it too, after all, It would be nice to have your company."

Evangeline soon fell into step with him, their shoes caked with a mixture of clay and slate from the coastal path. He had told her very little about the church, other than it being 'a short distance away' which she was beginning to question. They had walked far enough that she could see the town on the hill behind them, with the snow-covered mountains and St. Georges channel visible in the background. She looked ahead of him at the clearing, spotting the sandstone steeple through the trees, the falling blossoms obstructing her view and carpeting the floor like snow.

It was Vincent who broke their silence, remarking on the beauty of the landscape and how it was unique to Wales. Which she didn't respond to, merely allowing him to fill the dead air with his musings.

She followed him across the meadow, into the church, and down the nave before seating herself next to him a pew. They sat towards the back of the chapel away from the growing mass of people. Evangeline strained to hear their indistinct chatter over the reverberation of the bells as if they all spoke in whispers, whilst Vincent paid little attention to the overwhelming sounds of the children and the elderly, the organ and carillon, almost as if he couldn't hear them at all. She did not share his indifference and attempted to distract herself with the gothic architecture and stained-glass windows.

'_How can he find this relaxing?_'

As soon as she finished her train of thought the air fell still, replaced with an even more deafening silence. Her subtle breaths became audible as though they belonged to Vincent, and he was exhaling directly into her ear. She remained quiet as the priest began his sermon, too polite to dismiss his teachings but quickly felt her eyes glaze over in boredom.

"I've never understood why basic moral concepts need to be taught to the masses like this," She said lowly as not to disturb anyone, "I thought knowing not to steal, or to inflict harm onto others and so on was common knowledge... Yet, they all look as if they've never heard morals before and that there something new and wonderful."

Vincent turned to her then, bowing his head to meet her gaze. His expression a unique mix of softness and curiosity.

"I'd never thought you to be judgmental," he teased, receiving an arched brow from Evangeline in return, "Why do you say such things? To slight these people? If that is the case, then I do not believe you can comment on others morality-" She withdrew from him, visibly hurt by his accusation. "- Some may be hearing these teachings for the first time, you're quite right, whilst others are pleased to have their morals reaffirmed, regardless of how basic they may seem... I do not think they are at fault for either of these things... I'd much rather people were taught these lessons, instead of not being taught at all, would you not agree?"

"Well... yes, I agree that being taught morals is a good thing, but I don't believe that those who aren't, do not understand them. I believe everyone is born with a basic understanding of morality, it just needs developing."

"If that's what you believe, then why slight these people for developing their morals through sermons?"

She couldn't answer him, he had outwitted her and remained cordial whilst doing so whilst she was agitated.

"... I was being judgmental, as you said."

She turned away from him, ashamed by her brash remarks, hoping the pew would extend and increase the distance between them. She had not meant to dismiss the congregation, why her mouth didn't speak the words she wanted, she didn't know and now she found herself frustrated despite Vincent's friendly rebuttal.

"Don't get upset," He said, "It's good to have these types of discussions..." He reached out and brushed her delicate knuckles with his thumb, gently messaging her soft skin. In an instant, her gaze fell onto his hand, unsure if she should be shocked by his forwardness or bask in the reassuring embrace. It was an innocent gesture, yet she cursed the thought of him pulling away, instead, she fought the urge to intertwine her fingers with his.

Minutes passed before they spoke again, both lost in musings of their own. Evangeline brought her finger to her lip in thought, considering what he had just said. He possessed a sharp wit, far greater than her own. She had met others who appeared to be equally witty, but she assumed that this sudden outburst was only a glimpse into what his mind truly held and felt. How many years must he have spent improving his mind, if he did so at all? Did he make use of the extra time his genetics gave him, or did he waste the opportunity by chasing passing desires, like so many others?

"How old did you say you were, again?... 274?" She whispered, not taking her eyes off of the priest.

He nodded.

"I was born in 1746, during the reign of Yelizaveta Petrovna..." He responded faintly, uttering the name in perfect Russian as if he had never stopped speaking his native tongue.

She looked at him with wide eyes, no longer enchanted by the murmuring of the pastor.

"What was it like? Growing up a vampire?"

He thought for a moment before responding in bursts of whispers.

"I don't think I can give you a brief answer. There were periods which I look back on fondly... and there are periods which I'd much rather forget... I loathed the first 180 years of my life. I was destitute, my family, and I had little prospects and no money to speak of. Our only comfort was the dilapidated wind-mill we inhabited, no one dared to confront us over it, not even the forces; As far as they were concerned ghosts occupied the mill... We had to make do with what we found: Reusing discarded clothing and amenities and devouring small creatures which had the misfortune of being in our vicinity," He animated each word with his hands as if they were speaking a story of their own.

"My siblings and I were put to work at a young age, like other children, but we had to be careful with how we conducted ourselves, making sure our vampirism would go unnoticed. We worked only under the cover of night or darkness and went to great lengths to hide our feedings, but my sister didn't share our concern and often hunted the aristocrat's pets, in some misguided sense of rebellion, and put us all at risk of being discovered. She's so unlike me-" He smirked as he spoke of his sister, her unruly acts of defiance filling him with a sense of pride, as though he was pleased that she possessed the gumption that he never had.

"But it was not my sister's antics which forced us to flee Russia. It was the seven year's war. You could imagine what it was like, for four young children to sneak onto cargo ships heading to God knows where, where people spoke different languages and celebrated different traditions. I found myself on a ship heading towards London, whilst my siblings ended up in France and Italy... I have no idea how long I stood on the dock once I arrived, minutes maybe hours, It didn't matter... I was truly, utterly alone. I had never felt so hopeless. I didn't speak a word of English or understand any of their customs. I spent my first few months wandering the streets, hoping I would end up somewhere. Very few people took pity on me, I was a foreigner, an outsider. It was only by sheer, dumb luck that a noblewoman found me and took me in - after convincing her husband, and I became their adopted son. They gave me an expensive education, clothed in the finest attire and spoilt me with things which I never knew existed; I had never heard of toys until then. But as my life improved, I became riddled with guilt. I felt as though I had deserved none of this and frequently worried about my siblings. What was troubling is that I became exceptionally materialistic and distrusting of others, assuming that they'd take everything away… I would isolate myself with my studies, using my inherited wealth to attend different universities and colleges; I was fascinated by medicine - which won't come as a surprise to you... Of course, this freedom did not last. My adoptive family noticed that I grew far slower than other children and never appeared to eat when they did. They assumed that I was constantly sick because of my pale complexion and became suspicious of me. How the public would whisper! They spread rumours about my family, claiming that they had taken in a ghost or demon: the devil's child. That's what they called me, and my family believed that I was some supernatural being. So I absented myself, fearful of what they were planning to do with me and how they would be treated by the public. That's what I loathed the most: leaving my loved ones behind. I outlived everyone I knew and became intimately familiar with grief and loneliness. In my sadness I moved to Wales and dedicated all of my time to studying medicine and vampirism; I worked with famous doctors, scientists and pharmacists of the times and continued doing this throughout the Georgian, Victorian and Edwardian era. It was only when I reunited with my siblings after the second world war, that I stopped my studies and spent my time with them. It was a joyous occasion when I saw them again, knowing that they had survived throughout their hardships and had built a livelihood for themselves. What surprised me the most is that they had met other vampires. I was convinced that we were the sole members of our species, but this revelation gave me a new goal in life: to find others of my kind, to study them, to educate them and in time have humanity accept our species, so we would no longer have to hide or spend our long lives alone. . ."

He sat motionless for a moment, his smooth, pale skin glistened as though he was carved from marble and had joined the sculpted angels & cherubs in their deathlike splendour. The only sign of life came from his warm earthy eyes, their subtle movements drawing her attention, similar to how the flickering of a flame attracts one's eye.

"You need not tell me anything else if it disturbs you." She whispered, her body poised to face the priest once again.

Hard as she tried, she could not separate the murmuring of the priest from her inner dialogue, his low droning voice becoming static in the background before fading out entirely. Only Vincent's tale, his grim monologue, remained and echoed in her ears as if he was continuing to speak it. How was she supposed to comprehend his history? He had survived throughout two, almost three centuries. He had breathed the very air her ancestors did; he had worn the clothing which had been so delicately captured in paintings and tapestry and felt the fabric against his skin; he had ridden in carriages which traversed the Victorian streets of London, smelt the smog in the air, heard the bustling voices of people long dead and danced to their music. He was a living fragment of history.

"No. I ought to tell you more," He confessed suddenly, his body now as animated as before. "I haven't spoken to anyone in this manner."

"Not even your family?"

He shook his head.

"Then... Why confide in me? I'm nothing to you, especially when compared to your family."

"Nothing? Ha, you are no stranger to me!" He chuckled, the tips of his fangs appearing behind his plump lips for an instant. "Why you? I can't say what drew me to you. I suppose it was instinct."

'_Instinct_'. She looked at the tapestry to the right of her. It was draped from a railing against the wall, the light from the stained window casting it in shards of colour. Was it instinct? Could he not highlight a quality which drew him in? She ran her hand through her hair. She had given him little reason to admire her, that she was certain. He had been friendly and obliging whilst she had remained distant and suspicious. She had no reason to continue acting in such a way, he had confessed to her his secret, his vampiric burden and spoke about his troubled past; which he rarely shared with anyone. He was right, she was no stranger.

"You know, I've severely misjudged you."

"You have?" He furrowed his brows in confusion.

"I used to think of you as out of touch and untrustworthy. I was adamant that you were dangerous and meant me harm. But I can see now how wrong I was. You're one of the most friendly, open-minded, and accomplished people I've met." She began, her gaze falling to her feet, "I'm not accomplished in the slightest, nor do I have a fixed goal in life like you. I just drift through everything, hoping that things will work out but they never do. I'm lucky to have ended up where I have..."

Her face fell flat, her eyes dark and tired. She was exhausted from having suppressed her emotions for so long and felt as though she had just confessed an intimate detail about herself and was awaiting scrutiny, no matter how much relief her little admission brought her.

He looked at her then, his expression so determined that she wondered what he would do next.

"Join me." He said, now grasping her wrist.

She looked at him with an arched brow but did not pull away.

"I don't understand-"

"With my studies. It will give you a sense of purpose and I will appreciate your help."

Her eyes lit up at his offer, their icy blue irises iridescent in the sunlight. '_What an opportunity!_'. It was unthinkable. What scientists would give to research a new species. She could not let this go but urged herself to remain sceptical. From what he had shown her, all of his research was conducted informally and the literature which he sourced only spoke of theories. Did he not have access to a laboratory or a research team? Was anyone aware of his studies? She decided to ask him.

"I can access the university's labs, but I can not research my theories in that environment. If they were to discover my studies I would be publicly outed and... God knows what would happen then. No vampire has ever done what I'm doing and no vampire would ever support it-"

"Why?"

"Because I will be putting my entire species at risk. I invite you to imagine what would become of the world if the existence of vampires was confirmed, such a revelation needs to be handled with care to avoid causing worldwide panic. We must not allow legend or the human imagination to be the only representation of our species because if we allow it, they will treat us like mindless, immoral monsters with a lust for death and suffering; we will be denied rights, denied humanity and imprisoned if not killed or worse. You see, that is why we must keep our studies quiet, to avoid rousing suspicion within the vampiric and human community until we are ready to expose ourselves."

"But how will researching vampires help you expose your existence?"

"Well, to convince one of one's harmlessness, would it not be wise to see if you are harmless, and to be accepted into society, would it not be wise to know the areas in which they must adapt to accept you and if you are compatible. None of this can be achieved if you do not research it first."

Evangeline sat there astonished, deaf to the church bells, blind to the pastor and blind to the crowd now leaving their pews and shuffling down the aisle. Only Vincent seemed to exist at present, his passion for his work now infecting her and filling her with a nostalgic sense of determination and childish abandon. She took hold of his hand and pulled him out of his seat as if he weighed nothing at all.

"Come! We must head back. Teach me everything you know!"


	7. Chapter 7

Evangeline stood in the doorway to his office, narrowing her eyes as she peered into the darkened space, her hand wrapped around the brass handle. Only a singular beam of sunlight cut through drapes, illuminating the particles as it stretched across the floorboards. She stepped forward, allowing it to cast her in that warm, familiar sheen. Carefully, she reached out and felt for the wall, running her hands across the embossed wallpaper in search of a light switch. Her fingers fumbling over it several times before turning it on. At once, a soft orange light filled the room and illuminated the fabulous oil paintings that lined the walls, all of them capturing cities and landscapes which had once crawled with people but were now lost to history. Ornate bookshelves and damask furniture took the remaining space. His once lavish Victorian lifestyle now lived on in the confines of this room; amongst the clutter and the Scheele green hues.

The floorboards groaned under the weight of her feet as she walked about his office, her gait slow and graceful as if she was a man entranced by some architectural splendour. Even his belongings possessed a hypnotic-like quality about them; they were of human origin, but it was as though his vampiric touch had altered them somehow. This was most noticeable with his grand piano and classical violin, both of which occupied the outermost corner of the room. She half expected the keys to play themselves, as if she were being haunted by a ghostly apparition. She drew nearer to the parlour grand and sat on the leather stool, scanning the flurry of sheets for a piece she recognised and could play. Finally, settling on Chopin's prelude in E minor. Her left hand spread across the keys forming the first cord whilst her right rhythmically danced across the ivories, occasionally catching a black key in passing. She closed her eyes, feeling the piano vibrate from the melancholy music beneath her fingertips; the tender sound barely audible to her ears before the ever-growing excitement and ferocity took over. It enraptured her. The feeling of sorrow and contempt being withdrawn from her person and transformed into music. Rarely did she experience such therapeutic pleasures. . . but that did not last.

An eerie silence descended upon the room as reverberation from the final cord faded away; and in the absence of sound, a feeling of uneasiness grew in Evangeline, a tense, anxious feeling as if the quietness masked something most foul.

"You're full of surprises," Vincent teased, now taking a step towards her. "You never told me that you could play."

She turned her head suddenly as if to glance over her shoulder, but her eyes remained fixed in place. His unexpected appearance would have startled her, but the sound and feel of the piano had diverted her senses, which paid little heed to his presence.

"Well, not to a high degree. But, yes, I can play." She wafted her hand dismissively, as if her ability was some common talent and not worth acknowledging.

"You're too hard on yourself," he said, now turning towards the bookshelves. His back bent ever so slightly as he scanned the spine of each book. Their decaying leather-bindings obscuring what little text that remained.

Evangeline shifted on the stool, lifting one leg, followed by the next over the leather to face him. He seemed blissfully unaware of her watching as he flicked through one book, then another, and another after that; turning each page with such speed that she questioned whether he could read the contents. He seemed to withdraw them at random, placing a chosen few on the wooden-desk beside him whilst slotting others back into place. The stack of books on his desk had grown to five before he spoke again.

"Feel free to read some for yourself . . ."

He gestured absent mindedly towards the bookshelf on her right.

She raised a brow in confusion, unsure of what he was trying to communicate, but stood up and regarded the shelf in its entirety. The leather books formed a wall that seemed to stretch upwards forever, a looming visage of medieval literature. The bindings on all the books had given away from age, the withered leather had peeled away revealing the mouldering animal glue beneath. She scrunched her nose in disgust and carefully avoided the books that would not survive being moved and ran her thumb over the embossed lettering of the others. Flakes of gold fell from the titles and stuck to the pad of her thumb as she felt each spine. Many were written in Latin or Gaelic, whilst others were purely illustrative. Few of the books were dedicated to the occult; some - she assumed - were factual whilst others arose from a more superstitious origin.

She plucked one from the top shelf and held it in her hands, unsure of what to read first. The cover revealed nothing about its contents, only brandishing the author's name. Her finger underlined each word as she skimmed the introductory pages, the medieval French slowly revealing the purpose of the book. The title read: The handbook of biting regions on the human form. She grimaced at the thought of such a book and how it would describe the human body in tantalising detail. She wanted to place it back, but a morbid curiosity tugged at her, and she opened it. Each page showed a delicately drawn woman dressed in linen undergarments that hugged her body beneath her corset, her skin smooth and unaltered by makeup or adorned with jewellery, and behind her stood a brooding figure that was overcome with her simple beauty: a vampire. It snatched her and held her tightly, sometimes she fought back against the porcelain hunter, vainly pounding on its chest or giving its outstretched hand a mighty blow, only for the creature to subdue her before feasting on a limb, pawing at the silk to reveal the plump and tender flesh beneath. Evangeline closed her eyes in disgust. Had Vincent fed on humans in such away? Did he leer over the bare necks of others, lusting over the thin mobile skin? Panic rose within her stomach as she hurried through each page, possessed by the same morbid intrigue, hoping the next would offer her solace, only to meet with the same image of the woman, lying limp and lifeless in the vampire's arms as it bit down on her neck, her arm, her wrist, her inner thigh: impassioned. Lifting the confines of her nightgown as if to humiliate her before her inevitable demise. In an instant, Evangeline slammed the book shut and wedged it into the shelf, hoping that it would not see the light of day again.

"Wh- Are you all right?"

He faced her now, with a book in hand, his eyebrows arched in concern.

"Yeah . . . I'm fine. I just- do you agree with everything that's written in these books?"

He paused for a moment.

"Well, not if its mere opinion or speculation. Why? What did you read?" He placed the final book on the desk and settled into the damask armchair, resting his cheek in his palm. "Come, sit." He beckoned, gesturing towards the chair opposing him.

She sank into it; the velvet embracing her weary legs. "I read a handbook on biting . . ."

"And it disturbed you?" His voice was sympathetic, as though he were reaffirming her feelings instead of questioning them in surprise.

"Yes. Well, not necessarily the biting - although that upset me - it was how the vampire acted, without remorse or sympathy, only focusing on feeding . . ."

He sighed in an instant, his demeanour changed. She couldn't identify the emotion that contorted his face. His brows and lips were bent with frustration, but his eyes seemed weary and defeated. "Is that how you see me? Without remorse or sympathy?"

"No! Of course not!" She reached out for his hand, clasping at it, desperately trying to convince him that she saw and adored his humanity. "You've already shown me that you're more than capable of those feelings. . . I'm just worried that you could disregard them out of instinct."

"And what instinct would that be?!" He stared at her now, his eyes wide with outrage, wounded by her accusation that he could ignore his humanity despite himself. _'If you only knew what you accuse me of, how you'd refrain from making such comments!'_ He thought.

"Blood lust" She blurted out, her voice weak and devoid of the confidence which it once had. "Please, be honest with me . . . Do you have it?"

'_Blood lust'_. He sighed and rubbed his forehead soothingly, his voice failing him.

"What- I told you when you first arrived that vampires no longer hunt humans and have changed their morals-"

"Don't avoid the question!" She interrupted him, her fists clenched by her sides in frustration. "You know perfectly well the difference between morals and instinct. This morality doesn't rid them of instinct, they just know better than to give into it! If I am to remain friends with you, I ought to know if I am at risk! For my sake tell me, do you have blood lust!"

"Yes!"

Silence engulfed the room.

Instead of him, it was she who was staring now, her eyes wide and fearful. Her plump rouge lips lay slack in shock. He gazed at them, then looked at her eyes, his eyes mirroring the same fear as he felt the nauseating sting from his confession, it was as if he were being whipped over and over, unable able to breathe as each following blow stole his strength. He looked away suddenly, as though her gaze had burned him. How he wanted to reach for her, to clasp her hands and convince her that this lust changes nothing, that he was still the humane, empathetic man that he was before.

It was the sound of her swallowing that broke the silence.

"Have you wanted to feed on me?" She whispered, her right hand cupping her taut neck in fear. "Have you fed on others? Have you killed people?" Her voice broke as uncontrollable sobs escaped her throat, her hands instinctively moving to cover her face.

"No, no . . ." He pulled himself forward in the chair and slipped his hands around her back, holding her close. "Shh, don't be frightened. . . I've never fed on anyone and I'd never dream of hurting you." He felt the press of her cheek against his waistcoat as he held her, her dark red hair falling loosely around her shoulders as he ran his fingers through the curls. But he couldn't see the uneasiness which warped her buried face, her inner struggle as she clung tightly to the fabric of his dress shirt. He frightened her. His vampiric nature made him capable of such vicious spontaneity that she could not trust him completely. He appeared to her like a wild beast. Who is docile and agreeable when satiated, but became a mindless, self-indulgent animal as soon as the instinctual craving returned. . . Yet, she couldn't accept this. Her mind wouldn't allow it. He had endured a lifetime of torment, of injustice, and was reduced to hiding in shadows and preying on vermin just to survive. Yet, he remained hopeful. Bitterness and resentment failed to take a hold over him, even in his loneliness; he suppressed his vampiric nature despite himself.

She sighed into his warm chest, her breath still shaken from the dying sobs. She longed for this affection; she had been starved of it and felt her arms wrap around his waist as if they had a mind of their own and were carrying out her repressed desires. A minute passed between them before they moved. He reached for her face, gently guiding her chin upwards to meet his gaze, his thumb caressing her flushed cheeks.

"Better?" He asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, forcing the remaining tears down her cheeks to clear her blurred vision. It was then that she noticed the glassy sheen which covered his reddened eyes.

"You . . . were crying?"

"Almost . . ." His lips formed a faint, embarrassed smile, "I'd dread to think that you resent me; that you think of me like an animal. I'd hate to lose your good opinion and be alone again, you are the only human I've ever confided in."

She shook her head, her eyes lined with guilt.

"No, I don't hate you. I am cautious of your vampirism, but I don't hate you - I think quite the opposite, I adore your compassion and wit, you've listened to me and cared for me, unlike many others . . . You're a good man, Vince." Her fingers stroked his knuckles as she spoke, their softness taking her by surprise.

A playful grin spread across his lips, enlarged by her flattery.

"'Vince'? . . . Is that the nickname you've given me?" He teased as he reached for the stack of books beside him, pushing the leather and parchment tower towards her. Seemingly unaffected by what had just passed between them, as though it were a distant memory.

"These books are best to start with-" He said as he handed her the first tome. "- They do not explain everything, but will introduce you to my kind far more eloquently than I can."

She regarded the cover of each volume as he spoke, only looking up to meet his eye as if to say "I'm still listening". All of them discussed an aspect of vampiric life, ranging from history, sociology, philosophy, psychology and biology. Her heart sank at the sheer number and size of these vampiric tomes. Her curiosity knew no bounds, but she couldn't deny how daunting they appeared.

"You need not read them all in one sitting and you're more than welcome to take them home." He reassured her. "Once you've read them, I'll introduce you to my studies."

Her curls bounced like springs as she nodded, their deep maple sheen glinting in the light, and they swung to the side as her eyes followed Vincent across the room, watching him walk from his velvet seat towards his violin. His soft hands that caressed her hair a few moments ago now caressed the lacquered instrument in admiration. He turned to face her then, with his bow in hand and the violin neatly tucked under his chin. He stood there, like a soloist poised in front of an orchestra, waiting for his instruction to begin. His eyes soft and demanding, desperate for her acknowledgement.

A smile spread across her lips, and she shook her head. The movements in her hand mirroring her passiveness.

"If you want to play, then do so. You don't need my permission." Her hand returned to the first book, laying flat on the parchment pages as she read. Her head pricked to one side in anticipation of his playing.

A bitter-sweet whine radiated from the violin as he dragged the bow across the strings, his fingers manipulating the sound. Like her playing, his too was laced with melancholy and longing, reflecting his feelings far clearer than his expression or his words could ever achieve. There was a strange beauty in it. Witnessing how deeply his playing and emotions were intertwined, a bizarre form of symbiosis, one enhancing the other. When the music grew desperate, he grew desperate; when it calmed, he calmed.

She couldn't say how long they spent like that. The sun had begun to set and was peering from beneath the curtain, casting the desk and books in an orange glow. Vincent had not long stopped his playing and retired to his armchair beside her, his eyelids heavy with listlessness brought on by the warmth and familiarity of his office. It was that drugged sleep which was devoid of any comfort or refreshment, cloaking the mind in darkness only to cause a headache once woken.

She placed a ribbon in the fold of the page as to not lose her place and sat back for a moment. Her mind slowly detaching from the book and overcoming the strange sense of emptiness that returning to reality brings. It was quiet. Even Vincent's subtle breaths did little to dispel the silence. She looked at him, watching his chest rise and fall slowly. He had been reading over her shoulder whilst toying with the buttons on his waistcoat - which now lay open and sagged to the side, exposing his shirt beneath, his hand slumped clumsily on his groin. She couldn't help but smile at him. He did not resemble any vampiric archetype at all; he was not a sinister, old womaniser with a passion for the macabre, nor was he a brooding, young vampire that glistened like light on disturbed water. Instead, he was his very own vampiric incarnation, and he wore it proudly without shame, like a lapel upon his chest.

Her gaze drifted towards the shelves again, but not to admire the books. Instead, it was his heirlooms that had caught her attention. They occupied any space that Vincent could find, adding to the cluttered appearance of the room. At the back of the desk, in a crumpled pile of chains, laid a mourning lavaliere. She reached for it and slowly untangled the chain as to not make a sound and wake him. Each locket was filled with delicately curled locks of black, blonde or auburn hair and a photograph. Those that had their likeness captured bore a striking similarity to Vincent; from the slight curve of his upper lip to his luxurious, thick hair. She wondered who they were. Were they the siblings he spoke of, or his adoptive Georgian family? Had they all passed away, leaving him behind? The lockets shut with a sudden click and she placed the lavaliere towards the back of the desk, returning it to its resting place.

There were other photos slipped behind books and hidden within albums, private keepsakes which he had concealed from prying eyes and even himself. She did not dare to explore what he kept buried between those pages, as she was already cognisant of the guilt she felt from disturbing the chain. It was as though she had disturbed the dead.

A soft moan escaped Vincent's parted lips, snatching her attention away from the photos as if in sleep he could sense her curiosity and disproved of it. Then from behind him, on the mantlepiece, a large wooden stake materialised from the shade; the light glinting off of the varnished body and silver filigree that encased the tip, and beside it hung a wreath of dried garlic; free from its once pungent, acidic perfume. It was then that she noticed the various vampiric deterrents and crucifixes placed about the room, some bearing the visage of Christ skilfully carved from marble, whilst others remained bare; all of which had no affect him.

The glow of the evening sun had stretched across the desk and reached his stomach, slowly advancing up the fabric like a soldier, determined to meet the cool, pale crest of his cheek. She would have to wake him soon - if he did not wake himself - or else his skin would burn. Her eyes settled on his face, admiring the brilliance of his alabaster flesh, his handsome features softened by sleep. He had pressed his lips against her hair when he held her; she was sure of it. She wanted to feel their tenderness again and envisioned herself caressing his cupid's bow with her thumb, parting his bloodless lips and feeling the warmth of his breath against her skin. She felt her hand reach out for him as if it possessed its own will, moving closer to stroke his hair despite herself, but it hesitated, conflicted between the desires of her heart and mind. She needed to return to the book, but desperately wanted to touch him. Did he desire it as much as she did? If he did not, what then? Her body paid little heed to these questions and in an impulse she lent close to him, contending herself by touching his forehead with her lips. It was as bold as she dared to be with him. Then, overcome by bashfulness, she returned to her book.


	8. Chapter 8

Evangeline squinted as the sun shone through the curtains, her mind still hazy from her slumber. She looked towards Vincent and was surprised to find him asleep still, but he was no longer in his chair. Instead, he laid, rather clumsily, across the desk. Her eyes drifted down onto the book, she had creased its pages as she slept. She was no closer to completing the tome than before; with every page that she read another seemed to grow in its place, infinitely adding leaves of parchment, as if it were alive and was testing her dedication.

The history surrounding his kind enraptured her; from folk law that had persisted throughout the ages, to influential vampires that existed long before Vincent. What shocked her most of all, was how closely human and vampire societies were intertwined; one altering the course of the other. His kind forced to adapt to the human world in fear of persecution. Such a way of life was alien to her and worse still, she never appreciated the life that she led. She did not have to hide within the shadows or feed on vermin just to survive, nor did she have to mask her true self in fear of her life.

What did other vampires think of this world? - If they thought anything of it. Did they admire humans, but despise their despotism? Just as Vincent believed. Or did they think differently? She remembered Vincent's conversation from the church. '_No vampire has ever done what I'm doing and no vampire would ever support it_'. Why so? Were the risks associated with freedom too great? If Vincent exposed his kind to the world, what would become of him? Would he be outcast or hailed as a hero? She couldn't say. Vincent must have considered these questions before. She doubted that he would risk exposure without considering the consequences first.

She placed the ribbon across the page and closed the book. The heavy leather cover shut with a thump. He was right, no vampire had ever attempted such a feat. The tome recorded vampiric history to such a degree of accuracy that she scarcely believed it was no work of fiction, and even with such comprehensive documentation, it mentioned nothing of a vampire revolution. If there was an uprising, it was lost to time. '_But what about vampire sightings and legends?_' She thought to herself. Humans used to believe in the existence of vampires, and each culture has its very own vampiric myth as a testament to this. Why would these fables exist if vampires had hidden away all these years? They must have made themselves known. Maybe a vampire, overcome with the hunt and oblivious to their surroundings, was spotted by a passer-by or preyed upon a human, only to have them escape and alert others . . . or, just like Vincent, a vampire confided in a human simply to see their troubles eased.

She sunk into the back of the seat and sighed, crossing her leg over the other. Her eyes fixed on the window as she watched the deep purples and pinks melt away alongside the rising sun. The familiar gleam shining through the gaps between the tree trunks and slowly advancing up the tall wooden columns. Their shadows, like prison bars, stretched across the dirt and into the office. Vincent winced as the light caught his eye and he stirred, awkwardly covering his face with his palm before calming, refusing to wake.

Evangeline narrowed her eyes as she looked at his skin. The sun was burning his flesh. She stared at his hand in horror as it rapidly changed colour, its blanched appearance growing increasingly redder and redder. Then, as she sat stunned, the skin dried and split, peeling off in large coiled flakes, as thin as parchment. Quickly she reached for the curtain, pulling the fabric over the window at such a speed that the railing squealed. She reached for him, squeezing his raw flesh hard enough to shock him out of his slumber. His eyes sprung open, and he lept back, gasping and clasping at his hand, the pain so intense that a grimace stole over his lips, revealing both of his large fangs.

A long guttural groan escaped through his teeth as he ran towards the kitchen, losing all sense of grace and dignity as his hands clambered across the walls and door frames, his feet losing their footing as though he were a man frenzied. Evangeline, after gathering her thoughts and regaining her reason, rushed behind him; too stunned to say or do anything other than watch with morbid intrigue as he plunged his arm into the sink.

He let out a sigh of relief as the cool water engulfed his flesh.

"In my bedroom," He gasped between laboured breaths, "I have an ointment and bandages . . . Can you bring them to me?"

She nodded shakily and obeyed, dashing into his bedroom with little regard to what she might find. Pulling open drawers and unzipping bags. She threw open the wardrobe doors, hoping the items were there, but they were not. Then she searched his dresser table. It could have been a reflection of her own with the number of cosmetics it adorned. She scanned each container, clenching her fists in protest at their number before snatching the nearest skin cream and bandage she could find. When she returned, she found him sitting in his armchair with his head in his hands, his forearm still gleaming with water droplets.

"Here. . ." She breathed, now kneeling beside him. Her eyes coming to rest on his arm as she examined the taught flesh for the first time. The dead layer of skin had peeled away, leaving the weeping, red flesh beneath. She reached for it and gently patted it with the pad of her thumb, its tackiness similar to that of human burns. He sighed as she applied the cream onto his skin in long, soothing strokes, the tension in his body melting away.

"Is that better?" She asked whilst securing the bandage on his arm. He looked positively corpse like, as though he were a mummy brought back from the dead with the dressing almost completely removed.

"Much better, thank you." He smiled at her, his vampiric charm masking the discomfort that tugged at his eyebrows and deepened the creases in his cheeks.

"I suppose the benefit of being a vampire is that your wound will heal quickly." She muttered absent-mindedly, now reclining on the settee beside him, but stopped mid-movement as she noticed his change in expression, his face displaying nothing other than bewilderment.

"Wha - You heal quickly, don't you?"

He shook his head.

"Oh."

She reached for his cat which sat patiently at the table, not for a second taking her gaze off of Vincent. "What about the other supernatural abilities? Can't you run at incredible speeds? Don't you possess godlike strength?" She asked him with a level of innocence that he had not yet seen in her.

A grin stole over his cheeks as he tried his best to stifle his laughter. "No, I wish I did," He turned to the window and brought his finger to his lip, as though he were envisioning having such abilities. Then he shook his head, dismissing the thought as if it were a childish whim. "- But, I thought you would know better than to believe in the supernatural." He teased.

"Ha! Well, I didn't believe in such things, but then I met you. So excuse my superstition." She joked, mirroring his sarcasm and went on, desperately trying to recover his seriousness as she asked of other 'supernatural' abilities he might have, forming quotation marks with her fingers as she spoke of the unnatural. "Are you immortal? Given how old you are."

He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs; still smiling. It wasn't a humorous or smug grin that mocked her naivety, rather; it was cunning.

"No. Vampires can live for a thousand years if not more. . . but we are not immortal."

She thought for a moment and gently stroked the cats head, its purr reverberating through her fingers like a recently stricken bell. "So you're still very young in vampire years."

He nodded, "I suppose I'd be no older than you, in what you call 'vampire years'."

'_Vampire years_'. She looked away from him. Human life was so fleeting in comparison, seventy years was nothing to him, yet, it is a lifetime for another. It seemed so strange. How trivial must human existence appear to him? That people go about their lives absorbed in the present, in the mundane, unaware of how little time they have, and he would watch them; unmoving; unaffected by time, as each life grew old in a never-ending cycle. Leaving him almost entirely alone in his prolonged state. Doomed to see his loved ones pass him by in a world which pays no heed to his kind. . .

"Paws seems to have taken quite a liking to you." He said suddenly, gesturing towards his cat which now lay curled up in her lap, something that had gone quite beyond her notice. It shifted slightly, rolling onto its back as if to stretch, beckoning her to make a fuss of it again, and she did. Her fingers sank into its fur as she stroked it, the sun catching each strand as though they were fine silk threads. It mewed as she moved her hand away, taken back by the loss of sensation. She looked up at Vincent, her face uncharacteristically sombre - she wore a look of indifference habitually. Then she spoke, her voice soft and sympathetic.

"May I ask you a personal question?"

He nodded.

"Have you always lived in this house alone?"

He was quiet for a moment and no longer smiled, whilst she seemed agitated. The silence she could bear, but not his melancholy. It had been there since his confession at the church and it unveiled itself again now.

"Why do you ask?"

"I was just curious. I thought that you would have lived with your family or with a partner. I'm sorry if I asked something too personal."

He shook his head. "Don't apologise, it was an honest question. If I was human, I would have married by now, but it's not that simple when you are a vampire."

He leaned back in his seat and placed one leg on top of the other, lost in thought, as though he were considering the legitimacy of his own words. And she, overcome with curiosity, urged him on regardless of what was considered polite; inquiring as to what he meant by 'It's not so simple'. He refused, at first, but soon gave in when mortification could no longer be used as an excuse.

"Vampires are strictly monogamous. 'we mate for life', and so picking a partner must be done with the utmost care and consideration or else you risk having a deep dependence on a being who you detest. 'Bound' to them, that's what I call it. Unable to live with them and unable to live without. I've seen vampires spiral into madness or end it all because of their choice in partner."

"But you must have experienced some form of attraction or desire, surely."

He nodded.

"Of course I have. There have been men and women who've taken my fancy. I've just never acted upon it." He stopped and smiled at himself. His ivory fingers tracing the contours of his lips, there was an undeniable sensuality to his movements that made him seem dangerously inviting. He glanced at her then, only to see that she had sunk back into the couch and was no longer interested in him, her small mouth down-turned, her eyes lowered in disappointment.

"What's the matter?"

She shook her head and offered him a faint smile.

"It's nothing." He couldn't have known how severely this revelation wounded her. If he shared her feelings, they had been all but destroyed now. It would be reckless of him to love a human, doomed to outlive them and spend the rest of his life alone; eternally craving their presence to receive no solace from it. No matter how frequently she repeated in her mind that 'this was a cruel act of nature' It did nothing to lessen the blow, that he - out of no fault of his own - would never come to love her. She was vain - and naïve - for letting her feelings get the best of her in such a short amount of time and now she would have to feel the weight of that burden.

He reached out for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, convinced that he knew the reason for her silence.

"You are no riddle," He teased, "Please . . . don't think that I can't care about you because of my reticence or our difference in species. . . I'm perfectly capable of love and admiration outside of being 'unbound'. . ." He enveloped her small hand with his own as if to plead with her and bent down to meet her gaze, unable to read the expression she wore.

Her head nodded in understanding, her heartache adding a sluggishness to her movements, but before she could look at him he leant forward and kissed her forehead, quickly pulling away just as she did in his study, his mouth now curved into a knowing smile. She sat there staring at him, dumbfounded, her cheeks adorning a deep shade of rouge. She couldn't say what mortified her more: that he knew about her affections or that he felt her kiss him the night before.

They continued to gaze at each other and after a brief hesitation; he made the wise decision to steer the conversation towards more practical matters.

"My brother and I have managed to acquire vital lab equipment through close contacts. It's being delivered here tomorrow. I can't stress how much this will improve our studies, it's beyond measure. I could use your help when moving it. . . Evangeline? Are you listening?"

"Yes . . . and I'm working tomorrow so I can't." She said lowly whilst picking at the wooden table with her nails, her eyes transfixed on each indentation and crevice. Then she looked up at him, turning her head at such speed that her hair swung wildly around her neck. "Wait. . . Lab equipment? Where are you going to put it?"

"In my lab. . . It's behind the house, inside the barn. The interior has been completely renovated, so it would look no different from any lab you've been in." He said this with such nonchalance that it caught her off guard as if he had lived with this lab for aeons and no longer saw it as unusual.

"You have a lab!" She repeated in complete disbelief, her excitement rising within her body so that it stiffened her thighs and piqued her voice.

"Yes." He said calmly, "I wouldn't lie for the sake of it."

"Can I have a look?"

He thought for a moment, "I'd prefer to show you after you've completed your vampirology studies." He remarked with a smirk whilst heading into his office, only to return a few seconds later with the stack of leather-bound parchment in his hands. The books hit the table with a thump. "The sooner you finish them, the sooner we can continue our studies."

She arched her left brow as she reached for one of the tomes and dragged slowly across the table, as though she were a pupil who approached their professor's teachings with reluctance. "I'm not one of your pupils, you know . . ."

He winked at her, "You are now."

Evangeline couldn't say how long she spent studying that day. Time had no control over her as she read. Her mind painting pictures of fabulous worlds which she had not yet seen and made the very walls which surrounded her crumble into heaps on the floor. The brick and mortar, clattering over the cobbled streets of Victorian London, past a scrawny, frightened boy with porcelain skin and black hair, as he trembled amongst filth, sinking his teeth into the only comfort he knew: a rat. She turned away from him. Then, to her amazement, she gazed upon a freshly ploughed field, somewhere in eastern Europe, where the pagan farmers walked side by side with cattle and tended to their fields, unaware of the dark, ancient figures that lurked beneath the soil; soon to become the looming visages of death incarnate. And as night fell, she watched as people gathered in the streets with pitchforks and torches, following closely behind a horse that dragged a pale creature by its ankles towards a mighty blaze.

"Evangeline . . ." A familiar voice called out, the muffled sound seemingly coming from all angles. Her body turned in circles trying to catch a glimpse at its source and when it called out again and she looked up, the walls of the lounge suddenly appearing just as they did before, with their cracked paint and naked wooden beams; except that they were cast in an orange glow.

"It's ten pm." Vincent whispered, his eyes gesturing towards the clock on the mantlepiece as if to say 'It's time to stop', which she did and placed the tome down beside her.

"It's not that late," She yawned as she nestled into the settee and closed her eyes, her mind fatigued from reading. The fire danced in the hearth in front of her as she rested, as though it meant to escape the bars that contained it and steadily grew weaker with each wispy flame that freed itself.

"Oh really? Well, I'm going to bed," He said, slightly louder now, his voice weary with sleep, and bade her goodnight. Her eyes followed him through lowered lids as he moved towards his room, his light but disjointed footsteps echoing off of the hard wooden floor before falling silent behind his bedroom door.


	9. Chapter 9

Evangeline saw very little of Vincent after that, despite passing him every morning on the commute to work - which left her more wounded than she'd like to admit - and, when the time would allow, she would speak to him on the platform or in the small alleyways where they crossed, neither of them willing to broach the subject of vampires in the open.

Days became weeks at such a rate that it left her visibly shaken. It had been a month since she had moved into her chalet in the valley - which brought with it a strange sense of solitude - dedicating all of her spare time towards decorating and restoring the interior, except the old oak beams and uneven plaster, that she left untouched; its medieval appearance remarkably similar to Vincent's cottage.

She thought of him regularly and often found herself walking the path to his house out of subconscious habit. The thought of vampires and his study never once left her mind, worst of all, she couldn't speak of it, she was sworn into secrecy; unable to convey the truth that vampires were real and that they walk amongst us, fearful of what would become of Vincent's kind - not that she would be believed, she'd sooner be outcast as a raging lunatic.

Lunacy. She looked at the tarp that covered her desk. Was she a lunatic? Had all of this happened as she remembered it? Did Vincent truly expose his vampirism or was it a figment of her imagination? Her hands felt for the cloth and with a swift tug, it fell to the floor; the dust collecting around her ankles. _'Am I sane?'_. She shut her eyes against the shadows as they took shape and expanded, growing along the walls and across the floor, moving closer, then engulfing her as though she were damned. Her ears rang, filled with the sound of cars and the rustling of the trees, growing louder and louder until the pitch was unbearable and she clasped at her ears in frustration, desperately trying to stop any sound from increasing her torment, frantically seeking for something . . . anything to prove that this was reality; where vampires exist and have always done. The floorboards groaned as she put one foot in front of the other, clumsily circling the small corner until she fell silent. Her body completely still. _'The tomes!_'.

She reached for one blindly, her hands fumbling over the crusted leather and feeling the embossed surface, the red dye sticking to her fingertips as though it were blood from a day's work in the facility. Then she lifted it to her nose, inhaling the slightly nauseating scent. It was real; she hadn't imagined it. Relief rushed over her in large, soothing waves as she flicked through the pages, their sheer number offering her security against her instability. She clung to it, crushing the parchment against her chest as if she were a frightened child.

A slight breeze brushed her wet cheeks, the familiar emptiness now returning to the room. Only the rustling of curtains and creaking of the beams filled the air as she stood there, and the house seemed to sigh at the newfound calm. Slowly she relaxed her arms and allowed the book to fall away from her chest; the crunched parchment rustling as it came to rest in her palms. An almost inaudible tapping joined the muted choir of leaves and birds then, its rhythm too regular to be from outside. She looked down at the sound and saw her tears hitting the pages, their tiny splatter marks creating translucent spots on the text.

Shaken breaths stole over her chest as her sobs died on her lips. She wanted to shut out the world entirely, to hear nothing more of vampires or their freedom; she just wanted it all to go away and no longer torment her. She wanted more time. More time to accept the revelation that had been, quite unintentionally, exposed to her without warning. But she couldn't afford such a luxury, and her next shift at the facility brought with it another unwelcomed shock.

"Vincent!" She called out, her voice echoing across the clearing. The gravel giving way and clattering as each foot landed heavily on the stones. "Vincent!" She shouted again, her voice louder and more agitated than before, her feet carrying her forward at such a pace that she stumbled and threw herself at his door. Her hand pounding on the rough oak as if it meant to pass straight through and snatch him where he stood.

The door swung open then, his partially dressed form suddenly appearing from behind the wood, his hands clambering to pull a robe around himself. He only stammered a vague collection of words before she spoke.

"There's been another one!" She blurted out, her voice sharp. He took hold of her hands, only to discover that they were shaking. They trembled as though they contained all of her excitement and struggled to be free of his grasp to point towards the source of her hysteria.

He furrowed his brows in confusion but did not let go, instead; he tilted his head to he met her gaze and pulled her close. He couldn't bear to see her in this heightened state, where her body seemed to take on a life of its own and convulse with restrained frustration. "Another what?" He asked gently.

"Another murder!"

The whole clearing fell silent as her voice died off with the wind, its pitch deafening to her ears. She was sure that she could see her reflection within Vincent's eyes as he stood there, speechless. Then, in a simple glide of his hands, made a gesture for her to come inside.

"Bite marks you say?" He mused with his finger to his lips, the shock of the murder subsiding in him now, so that it only added slight tremor to his palms. The fire blazed in the hearth beside them, its heat so overwhelming that the room seemed to glisten and shimmer like beads of sweat on one's skin.

She nodded, "I measured the pits where the teeth punctured the skin and compared photographs, and I tell you-" She said, and leaned closer to him so that they were only a few inches apart, "They are identical to the bite marks on the other corpse; their location, the bruising, the other wounds. Everything. Everything is the same." She rested her hand on her thigh, her voice unusually soft. She looked almost feverish now, and weary; though her eyes had taken on a wild gleam. It was the thrill, the horrific excitement dying in her that caused her to feel this way, robbing her of her strength.

She lifted her eyes to look at him only to see that he had become completely stiff, with one hand cupping his chin, the other held rigidly at his side, silently opening and closing repeatedly. His eyes were wide and frozen in place as though he were overcome with an all-consuming panic. She knew the reason. She knew from the very moment the corpse was brought to her how this would affect him. How the prospect of a rogue vampire would threaten his plan of integration. Worse still, there was little that could be done. They did not possess the means to trace and capture this vampire, or prevent further killings. Neither did the authorities, but this was a blessing instead of a burden. She didn't dare to think of what would become of his kind if they were discovered through murder, any hope of peaceful integration from then on would be lost.

"We must do something . . ." He muttered thought through his hand, his fingers curled over his lips as though he meant to catch the words and withdraw them from the world, returning them to his musings. "We must do something." He said again but firmer and turned to look at her, his eyes ablaze with determination. The glow from the fire reflecting in the creases of the warm brown landscape that was his iris. It was so inviting that for a moment she forgot where she was, lost in the landscape that, to her, resembled freshly ploughed fields, fields that were so rich and so earthy they exuded life.

"Wait, what?" She scrunched her face in bewilderment, her furrowed brows casting a show over her luminescent grey eyes. His words lost on her. "What do you mean 'do something!' . . ." She began, her tone reflecting her surprise. "We have no way of tracking this vampire! I'm only a ME and my powers are very limited. . . and-" The words died away on her lips then, knowing deep down it was futile to try to convince him otherwise as he sat opposing her, his eyes still alight with that fiery determination.

A long, drawn-out sigh escaped her lips as she bowed her head, her hands cushioning her face. "Fine, let's say we tracked and confront them, how would you get them to stop? Hmm? . . ." Her eyes burned into his flesh as she spoke, their anger, their worry was unlike anything that had passed between them before, and for a split-second, she could see that his resolve wavered, "If you think that you can convince a killer to see the error of their ways then you are sorely mistaken. . . and there's no way either of us can overpower or apprehend another vampire, I've not heard of any 'vampiric police' who could deal with it either. . ." She grasped his hand as if to plead with him now, to make him look at her, but he would not. The conviction within his gaze was nothing but a pale shadow of its former self, and his eyes grew cold and distant.

He sighed, exhausted by her anger, "Do you not think I have already considered these things . . . I know there is little to be done, but we must do what we can, for my sake and yours otherwise more people will die, and if we allow this vampire to continue, then it will only be a matter of time until my kind is discovered." He stopped and pulled his wrist from her, breaking their gaze to turn his head away and look at everything whilst focusing on nothing as one does when they're weary of another, his eyes dancing across the room, stubbornly avoiding the only sight that he could not stand. "You see," He said after some reflection, "The responsibility of dealing with this rogue falls onto me. Because, as you say, there is no system to stop vampires such as this one, so it's the surrounding vampires' duty to fulfil this role," He fixed his gaze on the window then. His eyes as sombre and reflective as the glass, its panes seeming to contain the night sky perfectly within the white frames, " . . . and I know of few vampires here who would undertake such a task."

Evangeline remained still; her eyes wide with disbelief. Never once did she believe him to possess a temper. To her, he seemed passive and gentle with a great dislike of conflict, but she now knew this to be false. It was clear to her that he possessed a will, a sense of morality, far greater than her own - with the courage to act upon it, unlike herself. Yet, this didn't breed bitterness or contempt between them. Instead, she envied him completely.

"You say this as if it's a rule. Is it?"

"No," A frown tugged at his lips, "It's not a rule, there are no rules or laws among vampires; only principles - which I suppose are rules, but that's beside the point, the point is this: just as there are humans who will better the community for the sake of the people, there are vampires who will do the same." He fixed his gaze on the hearth whilst he spoke, the flames reflecting within his eyes which now appeared resolute. And Evangeline, considering his simple logic, said nothing. Her mind occupied by the thought of this rogue vampire; who brought death to two innocent beings without the slightest hint of care or dignity, slashing at their flesh despite their weakened state. She struggled to envision such a creature, only allowing herself to picture a cartoon devil, with a withered body and porcelain skin: the caricature of Dracula himself. And what would their justification be, if they justified their behaviour at all?

"What do you intend to do?" She asked suddenly whilst sinking back into the settee, lifting one leg on top of the other in one graceful motion. The tip of her boot bouncing rhythmically.

"I don't know," He replied in an equally hushed tone before falling silent again, his eyes now blank and expressionless as he watched the fire. For a long time, he sat like this, only moving to adjust his position in his seat or to stretch a limb, and she sat just as quietly, regarding him with patient curiosity; not for a second mistaking his stillness for distraction as a stranger would - she had been in his company long enough to know that behind his blank expressions there was cunning; that his mind was never vacant, even if it appeared to be so.

She pressed the tips of her fingers together as one does in deep thought and gazed in front of herself, no longer enthralled by Vincent's musing. She didn't expect him to know what to do with this rogue or to hear his plan if he truly had one, rather she wanted to question him. Question him on the thought that no righteous man would entertain, on what fate this vampire may receive. As much as it pained him he would have to consider the possibility of violence or even murder. . .

"Vincent," She whispered to him, gently coaxing him out of his trance. "What are you thinking?" She needed to know what he had considered, what he was willing to do.

He shrugged and let out a lengthy sigh, his face a worrying mix of defeat and uncertainty. "I don't know, I feel as though I can do nothing . . . that I'm being forced into a corner . . ." He covered his face then, his body bent uncomfortably as though he wanted to become small and retreat into some hidden space, where the world would continue without him and he could be at peace. "God, I wish this would fall onto someone else . . ."

The sofa creaked softly as she stood and came to kneel beside him, gently taking his palm in both hands. He was trembling and cold to the touch; the skin of his hand far damper than her own. He tightened his grip around her palm, urging her to not let go, and raised his hand so that she could rest her elbows on the arm of his chair. His voice grew hoarse and breathless then, his anxiety threatening to break his resolve. " . . . I see only one way for this to end . . . and I'm not sure If I can bring myself to-"

"To kill." She blurted with a hint of coldness and he turned away, disgusted, unable to look her in the eye. In any other circumstance, she would laugh at the irony of a vampire who was afraid of killing, but she wouldn't do so with him. Instead, she lifted his hand to her face and for a moment he seemed to calm, enjoying the warmth of her skin as she pressed his palm to her cheek.

"Could we pay someone? . . to 'deal' with this?" She asked softly, looking up at him with glassy grey eyes, her face hard with worry.

He shook his head, "We can't hire a human mercenary and I don't know of any vampire mercenaries either. Even if I did, I couldn't go through with it. Condemning someone to die is no different from killing them yourself."

"Then what are we to do, Vincent? - Let this vampire continue to murder innocent people?" She snapped, growing weary of him.

"No!"

"Then you have to kill them!" She demanded whilst pointing a long, slender finger towards the door as though the vampire stood behind it, waiting.

He pulled his hand from her, appalled by her words. "I can't believe you!" He spat, "I can't understand you! The moment I believe I have you figured out you prove me wrong." She sat back, astonished, her eyes wide. "This is the answer you choose? Murder!" He lept up from the seat, holding out his hands as though the sight of them horrified him, "It must be so easy for you to instruct me to kill when you're not the one who has to turn the knife! Who has to witness their lifeblood run over your fingers! You've witnessed death so often that you've grown desensitised to it, become detached. I don't possess such detachment, I can't look at death with the same indifference, and I can't bear the thought of being the cause of it . . . you have no idea what you ask of me! If death must be the answer, then you kill them!"

He turned away from her, the room now eerily silent. He couldn't even begin to look at her, he believed his anger would soften the blow; make him impervious to her distress, but he was wrong. He tried to speak her name, but the word died on his lips. He could not bring himself to face her; to see her reddened cheeks; her eyes, which no doubt burned with hatred for him. And even as the sound of her breath grew distant, followed by the light patter of her footsteps and then finally the slam of the door he remained frozen, stubbornly avoiding her gaze as though this last stand would rid him of all shame. But as the stillness returned and the familiar feeling of guilt washed over his limbs, he weakened and collapsed into his chair.

Evangeline meanwhile stormed aimlessly into the night. The heavy rain beating down against her skin and coat, blinding her as she struggled to shield herself from its icy blow; even her unfolded collar did little to protect her cheeks as she broke into a sprint and ran headlong into the rain, her heels thumping against the pavement, kicking up water in their wake.

The cobblestones appeared to shimmer beneath her feet as she moved, the silver moonlight reflecting off of the damp before converging with the occasional glow of a street lamp. If she were calmer, she would have stopped to admire the subtle beauty of it all; of how the small town swelled with life even in dark, waterlogged nights such as this, where the neon lights from bars and restaurants cast the streets in a variety of colours, mirroring the vibrant hues of the flowers which grew out of every crack and crevice, their brilliant green leaves protruding off of walls and out of baskets in a defiant display of nature.

She came to a stop then, her chest heaving, the icy air burning her throat as she turned to the old railing beside her, her hands grasping at the wet metal. The river roared beneath the bridge as she leant over the barrier to see the turbulent water below. It was pitch black and smelt strongly of earth. If the lights and the flowers reflected the town's beauty, then the river reflected its crudeness; its cold, endless image filling her with dread. A repressed sigh escaped through her lips then, her guilt growing stronger within her. Shame had all but replaced her anger as she covered her eyes, mortified at her callousness. How could she begin to acknowledge what she's done? Knowing that Vincent was right offered her no relief. She had recognised her detachment - her indifference - long before they had met, but to hear him speak of it . . . to see him read her character so perfectly, as though she were a plane of glass and he who held the light could see straight through, frightened her; made her feel a sense of vulnerability that she had not felt in a long time.

She looked up at the sky, blinking rapidly as her hair stuck to her skin and poked at her lashes. The rain had long subsided, and the clouds had cleared. Only the sound of rushing water could be heard as she stood silent, feeling her chest rise and fall with controlled breaths. What did Vincent think of her now? She could see herself in his lounge, staring at his dark eyes, his face contorted with disgust. His once friendly and inviting demeanour gone in an instant. She turned away from his visage as though it was real and palpable, the panic rising within her at the thought of losing him, as though her only comfort had been wrenched from her arms and she was left reaching for it, groping at nothing. She began to walk again and did not stop, making her way home through the darkened alleys like a shadow, the narrow walls pressing in on her as she passed, strolling right towards what lay behind each corner. The streets were dangerous, more so now than they were before, but she didn't care. She declared to herself then that the rogue vampire could take her where she stood and she would show little resistance. She decided that she would see her father and warn him of this 'killer' - she dared not speak of vampires with him, despite the overwhelming urge to confide in someone other than Vincent and perhaps begin to mend the damage that she had done.


	10. Chapter 10

Sadness, that's what she felt; a profound sadness, its damp and weighty feeling all too familiar and exhausting, as though it were a water-logged sheet that shrouded her body, never to grow warm or to lose its thickness. It had always been there, though its presence had never been as noticeable as it was now. Its sudden leap in intensity no doubt brought on by the murders, vampires and her internal struggle with this new reality. And Vincent? She did not blame him at all; saw, it was because of his gentle nature that her unhappiness had lessened all those months ago.

Even the quaint shop fronts and brightly coloured markets did little to ease her sadness. Her eyes sweeping across each window-pane, regarding the trinkets and produce one after another, none of them evoking in her a sense of interest as she looked on through the veil of her detachment. And as she walked she saw, staring back at her, the reflection of herself. She would have gasped if her mouth allowed it, but her lips remained shut, pressed tight in horror. Is this how she appeared to others? With her gaunt face and grey eyes that peered through black circles of tired flesh, the only splash of colour coming from her dark-red hair. How different she looked from when she first sat opposite Vincent's mirror, where her cheeks were warm and plump and her face radiated with curiosity. She turned away suddenly, horrified by her visage, and hurried onward. Her feet carrying her forward through the crowds and in between stalls like a woman frenzied.

Then, she stopped and turned to her right, her eyes drifting up towards the shop sign as though they were being pulled by a string. The large green font displaying her father's name beside a painting of a large, over-fed swine, with its mouth jammed open and choked with apples. She inhaled nervously, feeling her chest rise then fall in a single motion, followed by her hand pushing the door open, her ears full with the sound of a delicate brass bell before ending with a thump. The air was feverishly cold, enough for beads of water to collect on the surfaces and trickle down as though the very walls were sweating, and in front of her, in a great glass display, lay fresh cuts of meat, the fat marbling the flesh like veins.

She remained there in silence, her body shifting in place, poised to leave at a moment's notice. '_What would he think of me for turning up unannounced, after all these years?_' Then, from behind a door, a short old man wandered in with his hands full of parchment parcels; his apron strings cutting into his flesh like butchers twine. The light glinting off of the fine halo of hair that crowned his head.

"Eva?" He looked up through his glasses, his features at once growing soft with disbelief.

For a while they stood there, neither one speaking, neither one stepping forward to embrace the other as tears collected in his eyes and warped their icy blue pools. Yet, as she looked on, the more unreadable his expression became, as though his emotions battled one another to remain on his weary face. There was sadness, there was a relief, but most painfully of all, there was betrayal. It tugged at the corners of his mouth and sharpened the arches of his brow. She saw it and did not wish to see it, did not wish to feel the pain that she had caused him and felt the soft press of his stomach as she all but collapsed onto him, her arms wrapping instinctively around his shoulders.

She couldn't begin to imagine what he felt, what he thought of her for walking into his shop after having not seen him in 6 years.

"I thought you hated me . . ." He stammered out, his voice but a whisper through his sobs.

She shook her head, her throat now becoming tight and dry as her cries threatened to break her completely.

"No . . ." She whispered, her voice breaking, "No . . . I don't hate you . . . How could I? You should hate me after everything I've done." She nuzzled her face into the fabric of his shoulder and let out a few raspy cries, her hands gripping his shirt with the same desperate intensity as her grief held her, as though holding him would dispel her of these feelings and they would be at ease again.

"Sit down." He said, guiding her to the side of the room where a shabby bench lay and she sank into it. He bent down slowly beside her, his hands trembling as they reached to support his legs and gently rolled back into the chair, finally exhaling as he came to rest with his head against the wall. She felt a sudden bolt of sadness as she watched him, as if his condition struck her a blow to the cheek, and left her reeling. She hated to see him this way, with his trembling limbs and laboured breathing; an unwelcome reminder of his age and fragile mortality. How different he was from Vincent. This only worsened her sense of guilt, of all those years wasted, consumed by a petty sense of justice, of righteousness . . .

Tears gathered in her eyes again and she began to speak, but before the words left her lips he raised his palm, blocking any attempt for her to speak. This stopped her immediately.

"What's done is done," He said, his thick country accent bringing her back to a time long gone, where her tiny, child feet sunk into the wells his welly boots left behind on the farm path, "What matters now is that you're here." With that, he hugged her shoulder and offered her a smile, a smile that seemed to grow larger and more mischievous with every passing second. "What have you been doin' all these years?" He teased and playfully squeezed her arm. She shook her head and offered him a small, forced smile, her face quickly regaining its melancholy gleam. She couldn't believe his reaction. How quickly he pushed everything aside, as though all those years alone meant nothing to him and left no lasting effect. He must be mad or else his capacity for forgiveness knew no bounds, and he was almost incapable of feeling despair, unlike herself.

He reached out for her palm then and enveloped it with his own before giving it a reassuring pat. "You've changed," He affirmed softly and bent to meet her gaze, his eyes fixing on the network of veins that webbed her pupils. "You look ill, what's the matter?"

She looked away suddenly, knowing that if she spoke a cry so loud and so wild would break free, taking with it her ability to speak rational, coherent thoughts. "There's so much . . . I want . . . to tell you." She whispered between broken sobs before swallowing suddenly, her throat now tight and painfully dry. "Look," She said now pulling on some reserve, some sense of drive, "I wanted to warn you because I'm worried. . . Have you not heard about the murders?"

He flinched at the mention of 'murders' and glanced away, nodding slightly. "A young fella told me, a doctor." He said whilst breathing in a sigh, oblivious to Evangeline who began to sink lower in her seat. He couldn't begin to imagine the effect his words had on her.

"A doctor." She repeated. Her face growing paler by the moment.

"Yeah. Nice man . . . a bloody loony, though; always orders the strangest things - He asked for a whole bucket of pig's blood that day. . . I'll tell you - as nice as he is - he's the one to watch out for if the murders don't stop!" He exclaimed and wrung his hands.

Oh, the irony of it, how perfectly oblivious he was. She would have laughed at his words if they had been directed towards someone else, someone other than Vincent. The accidental accuracy of his suspicion disarmed her so completely that she could barely speak. As much as it pained her, she had to admit that he was right, that her father spoke perfect sense. Vincent's affectionate nature could no longer prevent him from being considered a suspect.

"Pig's blood?" She said now cupping her face. He couldn't understand the reason for her distress, and she was reluctant to tell him the truth.

"Yes. Why? What's the matter?" He asked this with such a level of innocence that she weakened and couldn't begin to entertain discussing vampires with him. He had always been a superstitious, god-fearing man, but he would not believe in the supernatural. She was certain of it. If he believed it, he would tell others, if not sober then he would drunk, and she couldn't risk this knowledge being spread along the coast - not yet.

She thought for a moment before shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. You wouldn't believe me, anyway."

It was then that she realised she had made a grave mistake because her father, as mellow and innocent as he was, began questioning her intently; disregarding all boundaries she tried to enforce and the more she refused him the more desperate he grew until, finally, he became frantic and demanded to know what all this was about. How this all relates to the murders and if 'the doctor' was involved. But she refused to speak and sat in silence with him, facing away from his gaze with her hand partially entangled in her hair. She was at a loss. What was she supposed to tell him? If she told him nothing he would become suspicious of her and increasingly distrustful of Vincent.

"God sake. . ." She whispered under her breath, now removing her hand from her hair. "I don't even know how to begin. . . and if you tell other people, god, I-I can't think what will happen." She pressed her hands to her cheeks again, caught up in that inner turmoil, her inner struggle. Where in one hand the fate of the investigation and the safety vampires lay in her hands alone, but in the other, the prospect of confiding in another that vampires were real and that she was not insane seemed so inviting that she could barely resist.

"I can't tell you here," She began and slowly guided him towards the back of the shop, warning him that he must not tell a soul and that this was of the utmost importance. He nodded and gave her his word, his eyes welling with excitement and uncertainty as she walked him past the freezer, its reflective gleam catching her eye. She almost stopped when the smell of freshly frozen meat filled her nostrils, its pungent scent no longer nostalgic. Instead, it had become somewhat unpleasant. It reminded her of the mortuary; of the cold, metallic environment that was not too dissimilar from the butchery, where the steel hatches locked away, a being that was once alive but now frozen in time. It was then that another smell, more pungent than the first, caught the breeze. It seemed familiar, and she felt her stomach grow sharp with anxiety.

Not knowing where it was coming from, she envisioned herself approaching the freezer door, her feet making large but tentative steps towards it before halting. Her eyes widened with fear as felt her shoes become damp, liquid too sticky and too warm to be that of water. A strangled cry caught in her throat as her eyes met with the ground and she could only watch in horror as the rouge puddle advanced across the linoleum floor, coating every nook and cranny as though it were Tar. In a panic, she jerked the freezer handle up and forced her way through the door, the blast of cold air stinging her eyes so that they watered. The sound of frequent dripping echoed in her ears as she stood there, blinking rapidly at the gathering of shadows that formed a shapeless mass in front of her eyes. And the longer she stared, the more it took shape, splitting into three separate shadows before resembling three humanoid figures. It was then that she realised what they were. Corpses bound hand and foot, all three strung on meat hooks with their throats punctured and bleeding. The first two had fallen victim to this nameless killer - she had seen them before - their faces formed a perfect mask of their last moments, capturing their struggle and tenacity to live, but the third was alive. And she all but collapsed as she recognised him as her father with his eyes rolled up into his skull, his body still writhing. Then from the shadows, a tall, finely dressed man with raven hair and pale skin stepped forward, his silken hand holding a crystal tumbler to the stream of blood before taking a sip. He smiled as though he were tasting a glass of fine wine and rested his gaze on her, wearing a look of superiority, and with a simple gesture of his hand, he tapped his watch, his thin fingers tapping out the rhythm of a heart.

She heard a muffled voice speak her name, but before she could make sense of what happened, she was forcibly turned around. "Evangeline." He repeated, but firmer than before, his face riddled with worry. "You're not well." He said and stepped outside, eyeing the freezer door from behind. She turned to look too, only to find everything as it should be: clean and without cause for concern. She grew frightened then, consumed by internal panic. Never had she experienced such vivid hallucinations before; she would see shadows and figures, only to discover with a second glance that they were never there at all, that she considered normal but not what she just experienced. And it was only by stepping outside that she realised how severe that episode had been. She leant with her back against the wall where her father was waiting, listening, with his brows arched in uncertainty.

She looked away from him and at everything else. The building backed onto a small car park, though it was never used, instead it had become a refuge for those with nowhere else to go and they often occupied a corner or a doorway to themselves. But today there was no one, which was unusual but came as a relief since it ensured that they had privacy.

She thought for a moment, planning in her mind a way of broaching the subject with him. '_how could one describe the impossible as something infinitely possible and real?_'

"Do you... believe in the supernatural?" She began, "- In angels and such?"

She cursed herself for beginning with such a question, believing that he would not take her seriously, but her father seemed to think for a moment before deciding that yes he did, and repeated his stance with greater conviction as though he questioned his resolve at first but did not now.

"Do you believe in vampires?" She asked then and held his gaze. Her eyes were resolute whilst he seemed agitated.

"What's this got to do with anything?" He demanded and threw up his hands, turning to face her.

"Just answer the question."

He sighed and folded his arms. Aggravated by her deliberate ambiguity. "So you mean to tell me that all of this-" He gestured around himself, "- all of the murders were done by a vampire . . . and, what, that the doctor is a vampire?! Are you insane?"

She recoiled from him and turned away, fixing her gaze on the floor. '_Why must he be this way?_'. She no longer paid attention to him and his caustic ramblings, focusing only on her thoughts and the concrete tile that lay beneath her feet, studying it, noting its shape and size as she traced the cracks until they accumulated at her feet. His ramblings were a distant mumbling now, although she was still conscious of the words that he spoke, that he believed she was 'unwell' and needed treatment; that vampires did not exist and Vincent was just an eccentric, just as she was was an eccentric.

'_Insane. Eccentric._' The words echoed within her mind as though they were a part of a ritualistic chant, evoking within her a sense of desperation and anxiety. It was not his disbelief that angered her, it was his hypocrisy, his ego. Not for a second believing that beings beyond angels and devils could exist; asserting that vampires were made up, existing only within fairytales and horror stories. 'There's no proof!' He exclaimed, and she, in awe of his lack of self-awareness, rolled her eyes.

It was then that the familiarity of the exchange became clear to her, like a freshly dusted mirror, where her reflection was clear and palpable and instead of her father arguing his disbelief, it was her. Stood in the courtyard of Vincent's cottage, her words that of her fathers as she screamed insanity at the vampire stood before her, and he too frightened to react looked on, astonished.

A wave of shame washed over her, followed by guilt. Its icy sting subsiding then renewing as though it were a lash. She looked up at her father then. His face was as fierce and pink as she could remember, although the creases had deepened with old age. There was nothing more to say. He had not changed in the time they spent apart, and she doubted he would. His age had not mellowed his temper or his tendency to insult those closest to him. All she could do now was to walk away and hope that their conversation had sunk in. Perhaps she would see him again, then again, perhaps she wouldn't. And as she turned away from him and walked back through the butchery, he continued his verbal assault, though she had grown cold and distant enough to dismiss him. Then in one final act, she hoisted up a sealed bucket of pig's blood that rested by the fridge and thrust a twenty-pound note into his apron pocket, silencing him immediately. But before he could question her and relieve his bewilderment, she spoke, claiming that the bucket was a gift, and that she was leaving before shutting the door with a thump.


End file.
